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^^pcrE M & 

CHIEFLY IN THE 

I SCOTTISH DIA LECT. 

BY 

ROBERT BURNS. 



T© WHJCH ARE ADDED, 

g>eberal ctjjet pieces, 

NOT CONTAINED IN ANY FORMER EDITION OF HIS POEMS! 
TOGETHER WITH 

THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR, 

WRITTEN BY HIMSELF ; 
y\ AND 

ELEGANT EXTRACTS FROM HIS LETTERS. 

WILMINGTO N: 

RINTED AND SOLD BY BONSAL AND NILES, IN MARKET 

STREET. ALSO SOLD AT THEIR BOOK-STORE, 

MARKET-STREET, BALTIMORE. 

1804. 



* 






\t< 



i 



LIFE OF 



ROBERT BURNS, 



BY HIMSELF, 



IN A LETTER TO DR. MOORE. 



MauchUne, 2d Aug. ITS?. 
SIR, 

For some months past I have been rambling over the 
country, but I am now confined with some lingering 
complaints, originating, as I take it, in the stomach. 
To divert my spirits a little in this miserable fog of 
ennu\ I have taken a whim to give you a history of 
myself. My name has made some little noise in this 
country ; you have done me the honor to interest your- 
lery warmly in my behalf; and I think a faithful 
account of what character of a man I am, and how I 
came' by that character, may perhaps amuse you in an 
idle .moment. I will give you an honest narrative, 
though I know it will be often at my own expence ; 
for I assure you, I have, like Solomon, whose charac- 
ter, excepting in the trifling article of wisdom, I some- 
times think I resemble — I have, I say, like him, turned 
my eyes to behold madness and folly, and like him, too, 
frequently shaken hands with their intoxicating friend- 
ship. After you have perused these pages, should you 
think them trifling and impertinent I only beg leave to 
tell you, that the poor author wrote them under some 



[ iv ] 

twitching qualms of conscience, arising from a suspi- 
cion that he was doing what he ought not to do ; a pre- 
dicament he has more than once been in before. 

I have not the most distant pretensions to assume 
that character which the pyecoated guardians of escut- 
cheons call a Gentleman/ When at Edinburgh last 
winter, I got acquainted in the Herald's office ; ai\jd look- 
ing through that granary of honors, I there foifcd al- 
most every name of the kingdom ; but for me, 

isnoble bloody 
Has crept thro* h ever since the jtoc 

Gules, Purpura, Argent, &c. quite disowned me. 

was of the north of Scotland, the son of 
a farmer, and was thrown by early misfortune on the 
rge; where after many years wanderings 
he picked up a pretty large quantity of 
and exp , to which I am indebted for 

little pretensions to wisdom. I havQ met 
. their manners a\ 
\ to him ; but stubborn, ungainly inl and 

vernable irascibility, are disqualify 
uently, I was born a v, 
man s son. For the first six or seven years of my life, 
my father was gardener to a worthy gentleman of small 
:e in the neighbourhood of Ayr. Had he conti- 
i that station, I must have marched oil to be 
of the little underlings about a farm house ; but it 
was his dearest wish and prayer to have it m his power 
to keep the children under his own eye till they could 
dis4 ><>d and evil; so, with t 1 

of ^i , my father ventured on a small 

fanv ate. At those years I v. 

a fir with anv body; I was a gr< 

for a ve memory, a stubborn, sturdy som 



C v ] 

my disposition, and an enthusiastic ideot piety. I say 
ideot piety, because I was then but a child. Though it 
cost the school-master some thrashings, I made an ex- 
cellent English scholar ; and by the time I was ten or 
eleven years of age, I was a critic in substantives, verbs, 
and participles. In my infant and boyish days too, I 
owed much to an old woman who resided in the fami- 
ly, remarkable for her ignorance, credulity and super- 
stition. She had, I suppose, the largest collection in 
the country of tales and songs concerning devils, ghosts, 
fairies, brownies, witches, warlocks, spunkies, kelpies, 
elf candles, dead lights, wraiths, apparitions, cantraips, 
giants, enchanted towers, dragons, and other trumpery. 
This cultivated the latent seeds of poetry ; but had so 
strong an effect on my imagination, that to this hour, 
in my nocturnal rambles, I sometimes keep a sharp 
look out in suspicious places ; and though nobody can 
be more sceptical that I am in such matters, yet it often 
takes an effect of philosophy to shake off these idle 
terrors. The earliest composition that I recollect tak- 
ing pleasure in, was the Vision ofMirza, and a hymn of 
Addison's beginning, " How are thy servants blest, O 
Lord!" I particularly remember one half stanza which 
was music to my boyish ear — 

" For though on dreadful whirls we hung, 
*.* High on the 6 taken wave." 

I met with these pieces in Mason's English Collection, 
one of my school books. The two first books I ever 
read in private, and which gave me more pleasure than 
any two books I ever read since, were The Life of 
Hannibal, and the History of Sir William Wallace. 
Hannibal gave my young ideas such a turn that I used 
to strut in raptures up and down after the recruiting 
drum and bagpipe, and wish myself tail enough to be a 
soldier; while the story of Wallace poured a Scottish 

a 2 



[ vi ] 

prejudice into my veins, which will boil along there, 
till the flood gates of life shut in eternal rest. 

Polemical divinity about this time was putting the 
country half mad, and I, ambitious of shining in con- 
versation parties on Sundays between sermons, &c. used 
a few years afterwards to puzzle Calvinism with so 
much heat and indiscretion, that I raised a hue and 
cry of heresy against me, which has not ceased to this 
hour. 

My vicinity to Ayr was some advantage to me. 
My social disposition, when not checked by some mo- 
dification of spirited pride, was lite our catechism de- 
finition of infinitude, without bounds or limits. I formed 
several connections with other younkers who possessed 
superior advantages : the youngling actors who were 
busy in the rehearsal of parts in which they were to 
appear on the stage of life, when alas! I was destined 
to drudge behind the scenes. It it is not commonly at 
this green age that our young gentry have a just sense 
of the immense distance between them and their ragged 
play-fel!ows. It takes a few dashes into the world to 
giv'e the young great man that proper, decent, unno- 
ticing disregard for the poor, insignificant, stupid devils, 
the mechanics and peasantry round him, who were, 
perhaps, born in the same village. My young supe- 
riors never insulted the cloutery appearance of my 
plough-boy carcase, the two extremes of which v. 

q exposed to all the inclemencies of all the seasons. 

They would give me stray volumes of books ; among 

them, even then, I could pick up some observations; 

■, whose heart, I am sure, not even the Mutiny 

im scenes have tainted, helped me to a little French. 
Parting with these my young friends and benefactors, 
as they occasionally went oft" for the East or West-Hi- 
ts often to me a sore affliction ; but I was soon 
called to more serious evils. 



[ vii ] 

My father's generous master died ; the farm proved 
a ruinous bargain ; and to clinch the misfortune, we 
fell into the hands of a factor who sat for the picture 
I have drawn in my Tale of Twa Dogs. My father 
was advanced in life when he married ; I was the el- 
dest of seven children; and he, worn out by early 
hardships, was unfit for labor. My father's spirit was 
soon irritated but not easily broken. There was a free- 
dom in his lease in two years more ; and to weather 
these two years, we retrenched our expenses. We 
lived very poorly : I was a dexterous ploughman for 
my age: and the next eldest to me was a brother (Gil- 
bert) who could drive the plough very well, and help 
me to thrash the corn. A novel writer might, perhaps, 
have viewed these scenes with some satisfaction, but so 
did not I ; ray indignation yet boils at the recollection 

of the s 1 factor's insolent threatening letters, which 

used to set us all in tears. 

This kind of life — the cheerless gloom of a hermit, 
with the unceasing moil of a galley slave, brought me- 
to my sixteenth year ; a little before which period I first 
committed the sin of rhyme. You know our country 
customs of coupling a man and woman together as 
partners in the labors of harvest. In my sixteenth au- 
tumn, my partner was a bewitching creature, a year 
younger than myself. My scarcity of English denies 
me the power of doing her justice in that language, 
but you know the Scotish idiom; she was a bonnie, 
sweet, so?isie /ass. In short, she altogether unwittingly 
to herself initiated me into that delicious passion, which, 
in spite of acid disappointments, gin-horn prudence, 
and book-worm philosophy, I hold to be the first of 
human joys, our dearest blessing here below ! How 
she caught the contagion I cannot tell ; yet medical 
people talk much of infection from breathing the same 
air, the touch, &c. but I never expressly said I loved 
her. Indeed I did not know myself why I liked so 



[ via ] 

much to loiter behind with her, when returning in the 
evening from our labors; why the tones of her voice 
made my heart strings thrill like an ^Eolian harp ; and 
particularly, why my pulse beat such a furious ratan 
when I looked and fingered over her little hand to pick 
out the cruel nettle stings and thistles. Among her 
other love-inspiring qualities, she sung sweetly ; and it 
was her favorite reel to which I attempted giving an 
embodied vehicle in rhyme. I was not so presumptu- 
ous as to imagine that I could make verses like print- 
ed ones, composed by men who had Greek and Latin ; 
but my girl sung a song which was said to be compos- 
ed by a country laird's son, on one of his father's maids, 
w 7 ith whom he was in love : and I saw no reason why I 
might not rhyme as well as he ; for excepting he could 
sheer sheep, and cast peats, his father living in the 
moorlands, he had no more scholar-craft than myself. 

Thus with me began love and poetry; which at 
times have been my only, and, till within the last twelve 
months, have been my highest enjoyment. My father 
struggled on till he reached the freedom of his lease, 
when he entered on a larger farm, about ten miles fur- 
ther in the country. The nature of the bargain he 
made, was such as to throw a little ready money into 
his hands at the commencement of the lease, otherwise 
the affair would have been impracticable. For four 
s we lived comfortably here; but a difference com- 
mencing between him and his landlord as to terms, af- 
tossing and whirling in the vortex of 
litigation, my father was just saved from the horrors 
of a jail, by* a consumption, which, after two years 
promises, kindly stepped in, and carried him away, to 
tchere lite wicked cease from troubling, and where the 
weary are at rcsL 

It is during the time we lived on this farm that my 
story is most eventful. I was at the beginning of this 



[ U ] 

period, perhaps, the most ungainly aukwardboy in the 
parish — no solitaire was less acquainted with the ways 
of the world. What I knew of ancient story was 
gathered from Salmons' and Guthrie's Geographical 
Grammars ; and the ideas I had formed of modern 
manners, of literature, and criticism, I got from the 
Spectator. These with Pope's Works, some plays of 
Shakespeare, Tull and Dickinson on Agriculture, The 
Pantheon, Locke's Essay on the Human Understand- 
ing, Stackhouse's History of the Bible, Justice's Bri- 
Gardener's Dictionary, Bayle's Lectures, Allan 
Ramsay's Works, Taylor's Scripture Doctrine of Ori- 
I Sin, A Select Collection of English Songs, and 
Harvey's Meditations, had formed the whole of my 
reading. The collection of songs was my vade mecum. 
I pored over them driving my cart, or walking to labor, 
song by song, verse by verse ; carefully noting the 
true tender, or sublime, from affectation and fustian. 
I an Ted I owe to this practice much of my 

critic craft, such as it is. 

In my seventeenth year, to give my manners a blush, 
nt to a country dancing school. My father had 
an unaccountable antipathy to these meetings, and my 
: to this moment I repent, in opposition 
father, as I said before, was subject 
; passion^ ; from that instance of disobedience 
in me, he took a sort of dislike to me, which, I believe, 
was one cause of the dissipation which marked my 
ing years. I say dissipation, comparatively 
with [less and sobriety, and regularity of a 

nan country life ; for though the Will-o'-Wisp 
:ors, of thoughtless whim were also the sole lights 
of my path, yet ear I piety and virtue kept 

tl years afterwards within the line of in- 
great misfortune of my life was to want 
an aim. I had felt early some stirrings of ambition, 
were the blind gropings of Homer's Cyclop 



[ X ] 

round the walls of his cave. I saw my father's situa- 
tion entailed on me perpetual labor. The only two 
openings by which I could enter the temple of fortune, 
was the gate of niggardly ceconomy, or the path of 
little chicaning bargain-making. The first is so con- 
tracted an aperture, I never could squeeze myself into 
it ; the last I always hated — there was contamination 
in the very entrance! Thus abandoned of aim or view 
in life, with a strong appetite for sociability, as well 
from native hilarity, as from a pride of observation and 
remark ; a constitutional melancholy or hypocondriasm 
made me fly solitude ; add to these incentives to social 
life, my reputation for bookish knowledge, a certain 
wild logical talent, and a strength of thought, some- 
thing like the rudiments of good sense, 'And it will not 
seem surprising that I was generally a welcome guest 
where I visited, or any great wonder that always where 
two or three met together, there was I among them. 
But far beyond all other impulses of my heart was un 
penchant a Vadorable moietie du genre humain. My 
heart was completely tinder, and was eternally lighted 
up by some goddess or other; and, as in every other 
warfare in this world, my fortune was various ; some- 
times I was received with favour and sometimes 
I was mortified by a repulse. At the plough, scythe, 
reap-hook, I feared no competitor, and thus I set 
absolute want at defiance ; and as I never cared 
farther for my labors than while I was in actual exer- 
cise, I spent the evenings in the way after my own 
heart. A country lad seldom carries on a love adven- 
ture without an assisting confidant. I possessed a cu- 
riosity, zeal, and intrepid dexterity, that recommended 
me as a proper second on these occasions; and I dare 
say I felt as much pleasure in being in the secret of 
half the loves of the parish of Tarbolton, as ever did 
statesman in knowing the intrigues of half the courts 
of Europe. The very goose feather in my hand s< 
to know instinctively the well-known path of my iman 






[ **» 3 

gination, the favorite theme of my song ; and is w ith 
difficulty restrained from giving me a couple of para- 
graphs on the love adventures of my compeers, the 
humble inmates of the farmer-house and the cottage ; 
but the grave sons of science, ambition, or avarice, 
baptize these things by the name of follies. To the 
sons and daughters of labor and poverty, they are mat- 
ters of the most serious nature ; to them the ardent 
hope, the stolen interview, the tender farewell, are the 
greatest and most delicious parts of their enjoyments. 

Another circumstance in my life, which made some 
alteration in my mind and manners, was, that I spent 
my nineteenth summer on a smuggling coast, a good 
distance from home, at a noted school, to learn men- 
suration, surveying, dialling, &c. in which I made a 
pretty good progress. But I made a greater progress 
in the knowledge of mankind. The contraband trade 
was at that time very successful ; and it sometimes 
happened to me to fall in with those who carried it on. 
Scenes of swaggering, riot, and roaring dissipation, 
were till this time new to me, but I was no enemy to 
social life. Here, though I learned to fill my glass, and 
to mix without fear in a drunken squabble, yet I w r ent 
on with a high hand with my geometry, till the Sun 
ntered Virgo, a month which is always a carnival in 
my bosom, when a charming fillettie, who lived next 
ioor to the school, overset my trigonometry, and set 
ne off at a tangent from the sphere of my studies. I, 
lowever, struggled on with my sines and cosines for a 
ew days more; but stepping into the garden one 
farming noon to take the Sun's altitude, there I met 
ny angel, 

Like Proserpine gathering flowers, 
Herself a fairer flower. 

It was in vain to think of doing any more good at 
chool. The remaining week I stayed I did nothing 



[ xii ] 

but craze the faculties of my soul about her, or steal 
out to meet her ; and the two last nights of my stay 
in the country, had sleep been a mortal sin, the image 
of this modest girl had kept me guiltless. 

I returned home very considerably improved. My 
reading was enlarged with the very important addition 
of Thompson's and Shc?istone's works: I had seen hu- 
man nature in a new phasis ; and I engaged several of 
my school-fellows to keep up a literary correspondence 
with me. This improved me in composition. I had met 
with a collection of letters by the wits of Queen Ann's 
reign, and I pored over them most devoutly. I kept 
copies of any of my own letters that pleased me, and 
a comparison between them and the composition of 
most of my correspondents, flattered my vanity. I 
carried this whim so far, that though I had not three 
farthings worth of business in the world, yet almost 
every post brought me as many letters as if I had been 
a broad plodding son of day-book and ledger. 

My life flowed on much in the same course till my 
twenty-third year. Vive V amour 9 et vive la bagatelle, 
were my sole principles of action. The addition of 
two more authors to my library gave me great pleasure, 
Sterne and M'Kensie. Tristram Shandy and Man of Feel- 
ing were my bosom favorites. Poesy was still a darling 
walk for my mind ; but it was only indulged in accord- 
ing to the humor of the hour. I had usually half a 
dozen, or more pieces on hand. I took up one or other 
as it suited the momentary tone of the mind, and dis- 
missed the work as it bordered on fatigue. My pas- 
sions, when once lighted up, raged like so many devils, 
till they got vent in rhyme ; and then the conning 
over my verses, like a spell soothed all into quiet 1 None 
of the rhymes of those days are in print, except, Win- 
ter, a Dirge, the eldest of my printed pieces: The 
Death of poor Maillie, John Barleycorn, and songs first. 



C xiii ] 

second, and third. Song second was the ebullition of 
that passion which ended the forementioned school 
business. 

My twenty-third year was to me an important aera. 
Partly through whim, and partly that I wished to set 
about doing something in life, I joined a flax-dresser 
in a neighboring town (Irvin,) to learn his trade. This 

was an unlucky affair. My ; and to finish the 

whole, as we were giving a welcoming carousal to the 
new year, the shop took fire, and burnt to ashes ; and 
I was left, like a true poet, not worth a six-pence. 

I was obliged to give up this scheme; the clouds of 
misfortune were gathering thick round my father's 
head; and what was worst of all, he was visibly far 
gone in a consumption, and to crown my distresses, a 
belle file, whom I adored, and who had pledged her 
soul in the field of matrimony, jilted me, with peculiar 
circumstances of mortification. The finishing evil that 
brought up the rear of this infernal file, was my con- 
stitutional melancholy being increased to such a de- 
gree, that for three months I was in a state of mind 
scarcely to be envied by the hopeless wretches who 
have got their mittimus — depart from me ye cursed. 

From this adventure I learned something of a town 
life ; but the principal thing which gave my mind a 
turn, was a friendship I formed withTa young fellow, 
a very noble character, but a hapless son of misfortune! 
He was the son of a simple mechanic ; but a great man 
in the neighbourhood taking him under his patronage, 
gave him a genteel education, with a view of bettering 
his situation in life— The patron dying just as lie was 
ready to launch out into the world," the poor fellow in 
despair went to sea ; where after a variety of good and 
ill fortune, a little before I was acquainted with him, 



[ xii ] 






but craze the faculties of my soul about her, or steal 
out to meet her ; and the two last nights of my stay 
in the country, had sleep been a mortal sin, the image 
of this modest girl had kept me guiltless. 

I returned home very considerably improved. My 
reading was enlarged with the very important addition 
of Thompson's and Shcnstones works : I had seen hu- 
man nature in a new phasis ; and I engaged several of 
my school-fellows to keep up a literary correspondence 
with me. This improved me in composition. I had met 
with a collection of letters by the wits of Queen Ann's 
reign, and I pored over them most devoutly. I kept 
copies of any of my own letters that pleased me, and 
a comparison between them and the composition of 
most of my correspondents, flattered my vanity. I 
carried this whim so far, that though I had not three 
farthings worth of business in the world, yet almost 
every post brought me as many letters as if I had been 
a broad plodding son of day-book and ledger. 

My life flowed on much in the same course till my 
twenty-third year. Vive r amour, et vive la bagatelle, 
were my sole principles of action. The addition of 
two more authors to my library gave me great pleasure, 
Sterne and M'Kensie. Tristram Shandy and Man of Feel- 
ing w r ere my bosom favorites. Poesy was still a darling 
walk for my mind ; but it was only indulged in accord- 
ing to the humor of the hour. I had usually half a 
dozen, or more pieces on hand. I took up one or other 
as it suited the momentary tone of the mind, and dis- 
missed the work as it bordered on fatigue. My pas- 
sions, when once lighted up, raged like so many devils, 
till they got vent in rhyme ; and then the conning 
over my verses, like a spell soothed all into quiet i None 
of the rhymes of those days are in print, except, Win- 
ter, a Dirge, the eldest of my printed pieces: The 
Death of poor Mai/lie, John Barleycorn, and songs first. 



[ xiii ] 

second, and third. Song second was the ebullition of 
that passion which ended the forementioned school 
business. 

My twenty- third year was to me an important sera. 
Partly through whim, and partly that I wished to set 
about doing something in life, I joined a flax-dresser 
in a neighboring town (Irvin,) to learn his trade. This 

was an unlucky affair. My ; and to finish the 

whole, as we were giving a welcoming carousal to the 
new year, the shop took fire, and burnt to ashes ; and 
I was left, like a true poet, not worth a six-pence. 

I was obliged to give up this scheme; the clouds of 
misfortune were gathering thick round my father's 
head; and what was worst of all, he was visibly far 
gone in a consumption, and to crown my distresses, a 
belle fille, whom I adored, and who had pledged her 
soul in the field of matrimony, jilted me, with peculiar 
circumstances of mortification. The finishing evil that 
brought up the rear of this infernal file, was my con- 
stitutional melancholy being increased to such a de- 
gree, that for three months I was in a state of mind 
scarcely to be envied by the hopeless wretches who 
have got their mittimus — depart from me ye cursed. 

From this adventure I learned something of a town 
life ; but the principal thing which gave my mind a 
turn, was a friendship I formed with a young fellow, 
a very noble character, but a hapless son of misfortune! 
He was the son of a simple mechanic ; but a great man 
in the neighbourhood taking him under his patronage, 
gave him a genteel education, with a view of bettering 
his situation in life— The patron dying just as he was 
ready to launch out into the world,' the poor fellow in 
despair went to sea; where after a variety of good and 
ill fortune, a little before I was acquainted with him, 



B 



[ * iv ] 

he had been set ashore, by an American privateer on 
the wild coast of Connaught, stripped of every thing. 
I cannot quit this poor fellow's story without adding, 
that he is at this time master of a large West-Indiaman 
belonging to the Thames. 

His mind was frought with independence, magnani- 
mity, and every manly virtue. I loved and admired 
him to a degree of enthusiasm, and of course strove 
to imitate him. In some measure I succeeded : I had 
pride before, but he taught it to flow in proper channels. 
His knowledge of the world was vastly superior to 
mine, and I was all attention to learn. He was the only 
man I ever saw 7 who was a greater fool than myself where 
woman was the presiding star; but he spoke of illicit love 
with the levity of a sailor, which hitherto I had regarded 
with horror. Here his friendship did me a mischief; 
and the consequence was, that soon after I resumed the 
plough I wrote the Poet's Welcome. My reading only 
increased while in this town by two stray volumes of 
Pamela, and one of Ferdinand Count Fathom, which 
gave me some idea of novels. Rhyme, except some 
religious pieces that are in print, I had given up; but 
meeting with Ferguson's Scottish Poems, I strung anew 
my wildly sounding lyre with emulating vigour. When 
my father died, his all went among the hell-hounds 
that growl in the kennel of justice; but we made a 
shift to collect a little money in the family amongst 
us, with which, to keep us together, my brother and I 
took a neighboring farm. My brother wanted my hair- 
brained imagination, as well as my social and amorous 
madness; but in good sense, and every sober quality, 
he was far my superior. 

1 entered on this farm with a full resolution, co, 
go to, I will he wise ! I read farming books; I calcu- 
lated crops; I attended markets ; and, in short, in spite, 



[ xv ] 

of the devil, the world, and the flesh, I believe I should 
have been a wise man ; but the first year, from unfor- 
tunately buying bad seed, the second from a late har- 
vest, we lost half our crops. This overset all my wis- 
dom, and I returned like a dog to his vomit, and the 
sow that teas washed, to her wallowing in the mire. 

I now began to be known in the neighborhood as a 
maker of rhymes. The first of my poetic offspring 
that saw the" light, was a burlesque lamentation on a 
quarrel between two reverend Calvinists, both of them 
dramatis persona in my Holy Fair. I had no notion 
myself that the piece had some merit ; but to prevent 
the worst, I gave a copy of it to a friend who was fond 
of such things, and told him that I could not guess who 
was the author of it, but that I thought it pretty cle- 
ver. With a certain description of the clergy, as well 
as laity, it met with a roar of applause. Holy Willie's 
Prayer next made its appearance, and alarmed the 
Kirk Session so much, that they held several meetings 
to look over their spiritual artillery, if haply any of it 
might be pointed against profane rhyme. Unluckily 
for me, my wanderings led me on another side, within 
point blank shot of their heaviest metal. This was a 
most melancholy affair, which I cannot yet bear to re- 
flect on, and had very nearly given me one or two of 
the principal qualifications for a place among those 
who have lost the chart, and mistaken the reckoning of 
rationality. I gave up my part of the farm to my bro- 
ther ; in truth it was only nominally mine; and made 
what little preparation was in my power for Jamaica. 
But before leaving my native country forever, I resolv- 
ed to publish my poems. I weighed my productions 
as impartially as was in my power ; I thought they had 
merit; and it was a delicious idea that I should be cal- 
led a clever fellow, even though it should never reach 
my ears— a poor negro driver — or perhaps a victim to 
that inhospitable clime, and gone to the world of spi- 



[ xvi ] 

rits ! I can truly say, that pauvre inconnu as I then was, 
I had pretty nearly as high an idea of myself and of 
my works as I have at this moment, when the public 
has decided in their favor. 

It ever was my opinion, that the mistakes and blun- 
ders, both in a rational and religious point of view, of 
which we see thousands daily guilty, are owing to the 
ignorance of themselves. To know myself had been 
all along my constant study. I weighed myself alone; 
I balanced myself with others ; I watched every means 
of information, to see how much ground I occupied as 
a man and as a poet; I studied assiduously nature's 
design in my formation, where the lights and shades in 
my character were intended. I was pretty confident 
my poems would meet with some applause; but at 
the worst, the roar of the Atlantic would deafen the 
voice of censure, and the novelty of West-Indian scenes 
make me forget neglect. I threw off six hundred copies, 
of which I had got subscriptions for about three hun- 
dred and fifty. My vanity was highly gratified by the 
reception I met with from the public ; and besides I 
pocketed, all expences deducted, nearly twenty pounds. 
This sum came very seasonably, as I was thinking of 
indenting myself, for want of money to procure a pas- 
sage. As soon as I was master of nine guineas, the 
price of wafting me to the torrid zone, I took a steer- 
age passage in the first ship that was to sail from the 
Clyde, for, 

Hungry ruin had me in the wind. 

I had been for some days sculking from covert to 
covert, under all the horrors of a jail; as some ill-ad- 
vised people had uncoupled the merciless pack of law 
at my heels. I had taken the last farewell of my few 
friends; my chest was on the road to Greenock ; I had 
composed the last song I should ever measure in Cale- 



xvii ] 

donia, The gloomy night is gathering fast, when £ 
letter from Dr. Blacklock to a friend of mine over- 
threw all my schemes, by opening new prospects to my 
poetic ambition. The Doctor belonged to a set of cri- 
tics for whose applause I had not dared to hope. His 
opinion that I should meet encouragement in Edinburgh 
for a second edition fired me so much, that away I post- 
ed for that city, without a single acquaintance, or a 
single letter of introduction. The baneful star that 
had so long shed its blasting influence in my zenith, 
for once made a revolution to the Nadir; and a kind 
providence placed me under the patronage of the no- 
blest of men, the Earl of Gleneairn. Oublie moi, grand 
Dieu, si jamais je VoiibUe. 

I need relate no further. At Edinburgh I was in a 
new world ; I mingled among many classes of men, 
but all of them new to me ; and I was all attention to 
catch the characters and the manners living as they rise. 
Whether I have profited, time will shew. 



Burns died on the 21st of July, 1790. The gentle- 
men volunteers of Dumfries, had determined to bury 
their associate with military honours. The funeral 
took place on the 26th of July, when the remains of 
Burns were interred in the southern church-yard, and 
three vollies marked the return of the poet to his parent 
earth. 



b 2 



PASSAGES TRANSCRIBED 



FROM 



BURNS' LETTERS.* 



By John Evans, A.M. 

1 HE appellation of a Scottish Bard is by far my 
highest pride, to continue to deserve it is my most ex- 
alted ambition. Scottish scenes and Scottish stories are 
the themes I could wish to sing. I have no dearer aim 
than to have it in my power, un plagued with the rou- 
tine of business, for which, heaven knows, I am unfit, 
enough to make leisurely pilgrimages through Caledo- 
nia ; to sit on the fields of her battles— to wander on the 
romantic banks of the rivers — and to muse by the state- 
ly towers, or venerable ruins, once the honoured abodes 
of her heroes! 



The most placid good-nature and sweetness of dispo- 
sition, a warm heart gratefully devoted with all its pow- 
ers to lo*e me, vigorous health and sprightly cheerful- 
ness set oil' to the best advantage, by a more than com- 
monly handsome figure, these, I think, in a woman, 

* It was the opinion of Dr. Robertson, the celebrated his- 
torian, that the prose of Burns was still more extraordinary 
than even his poetry. 



[ xix ] 

may make a good wife, though she should never have 
read a page, but the Scriptures of the Old and New 
Testame.it, nor have danced in a brighter assembly than 
a penny-pay wedding. 



I shall transcribe you a few lines I wrote in an her- 
mitage belonging to a gentleman in my Nithsdale neigh- 
bourhood. They are almost the only favours the muses 
have conferred on me in that country. 

Thee whom chance may hither lead, 
Be thou clad in rustic weed ; 
Be thou deck'd in silken stole, 
'Grave these maxims on thy soul. 

Life is but a day at most, 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost, 
Hope not sunshine ev'ry hour, 
Fear not clouds will ever lour. 
Happiness is but a name, 
Make content and ease thy aim. 
Ambition is a meteor-gleam, 
Fame an idle restless dream ; 
Peace the tender'st flower of spring, 
Pleasures — insects on the wing ! 
Those that sip the dew alone, 
Make the butter-flies thy own : 
Those that would the bloom devour, 
Crush the locusts, save the flower. 
For the future be prepar'd, 
Guard wherever thou canst guard ; 
But thy utmost duty done, 
Welcome what thou canst not shun. 
Follies past give thou to air, 
Make their consequence thy care; 
Keep the name of man in mind, 
And dishonour not thy kind. 



C xx 3 

Reverence, with lowly heart, 
Him whose wond'rous works thou art; 
Keep his goodness still in view, 
Thy trust, and thy example too. 
Stranger, go! heaven be thy guide! 
Quoth — the beadsman of Nithside. 






After all that has been said on the other side of the 
question, man is by no means a happy creature, I do 
not speak of the selected few, favoured by partial hea- 
ven, whose souls are tuned to gladness amid riches and 
honours, and prudence and wisdom. I speak of the 
neglected many, whose nerves, whose sinews, whose 
days are sold to the minions of fortune. It is this way 
of thinking, it is these melancholy truths, that made 
religion precious to the poor miserable children of men. 
If it is mere phantom, existing only in the heated ima- 
gination of enthusiasm — 

" What truth on earth so precious as the lie." 

My idle reasoning sometimes makes me little sceptical, 
but the necessities of my heart always give the cold 
philosophising^ the lie. Who looks for the heart wean- 
ed from earth — the soul afficianced to her God — the 
correspondence fixed with heaven — the pious suppli- 
cation and the devout thanksgiving, constant as the vi- 
cissitudes of even and morn, — who thinks to meet these 
in the court, the palace, in the glare of public life! 
No; to find them in their precious importance and di- 
vine efficacy, we must search among the obscure re- 
cesses of disappointment, affliction, poverty, and dis- 



I approve of set times and seasons of more than or- 
dinary acts of devotion, for breaking in on that habitu- 






[ xxi ] 

ated routine of life and thought, which is so apt to re- 
duce our existence to a kind of instinct, or even some- 
times, and with some minds, to a state very little su- 
perior to mere machinery. 



We know nothing, or next to nothing, of the sub- 
stance or structure of our souls, so cannot account for 
those seeming caprices in them, that one should be par- 
ticularly pleased with this thing, or struck with that, 
which, on minds of a different cast, makes no extraor- 
dinary impression. I have some favourite flowers in 
in spring, among which are the mountain-daisy, the 
hare-be!!, the fox-glove, the wild brier-rose, the bud- 
ding-birch, and the hoary hawthorn, that I view and 
hang over with particular delight. I never hear the 
loud solitary whistle of the curlew in a summer noon, 
or the wild mixing cadence of a troop of grey-plovers 
in an autumnal morning, without feeling an elevation 
of soul like the enthusiasm of devotion, or poetry. 
Tell me, my dear friend, to what can this be owing ? 
Are we a piece of machinery, which like the Eolian 
harp, passive takes the impression of the passing acci- 
dent? Or do these workings argue something within 
us above the trodden clod? I own myself partial to 
such proofs of those awful and important realities — a 
God that made all things — man's immaterial and im- 
mortal nature — and a world of weal or woe beyond 
death and the grave ! 



Often as I have glided with humble stealth through 
the pomp of Prince's-street, (Edinburgh), it has sug- 
gested itself to me as an improvement on the present 
human figure, that a man in proportion to his own 
conceit of his consequence in the world, could have 



[ xxii 

pushed out the longitude of his common size as a snail 
pushes out his horns, or as we draw out a perspective. 
This trifling alteration, not to mention the prodigious 
saving it would be in the tear and wear of the neck, 
limbs, and sinews of many of his majesty's liege sub- 
jects, in the way of tossing his head, and tiptoe-strut- 
ting, would evidently turn out to vast advantage, in 
enabling us at once to adjust the ceremonials in mak- 
ing a bow, or making way to a great man, and that too 
within a second of the precise spherical angle of rever- 
ence, or an inch of the particular point of respectful 
distance which the important creature itself requires — 
as a measuring glance at its towering altitude, would 
determine the affair like instinct! 



O frugality! thou mother of ten thousand blessings 
— thou cook of fat beef and dainty greens ! — thou 
manufacturer of warm Shetland hose and comfortable 
6iirtouts; — thou old housewife darning thy decayed 
stockings with thy ancient spectacles on thy aged nose ! 
— lead me, hand me in thy clutched, palsied fist, up 
those heights, and through those thickets hitherto in- 
accessible and impervious to my anxious weary feet: 
— not those Parnassian crags, bleak and barren, where, 
the hungry worshippers of fame are breathless, clam- 
bering, hanging between heaven and hell ; but those 
glittering cliffs of Potosi, where the all-sufficient, all- 
powerful deity wealth, holds hi> immediate court of 
joys and pleasures ; where the sunny exposure of plen- 
ty and the hot walls of profusion produce those blissful 
fruits of luxury, exotics in this world and natives of 
paradise! — Thou withered sylph, my sage conductress, 
usher me into the refulgent and adored presence ! — the 
power splendid and potent as he now is, was once the 
puling nursling of thy faithful care and tender arms! 
— Call me thy son, thy cousin, thy kinsman, favourite, 



xxiii 

and adjure the god by the scenes of his infant years, 
no longer to repulse me as a stranger or an alien, but 
to favour me with his peculiar countenance and pro- 
tection ! He daily bestows his greatest kindnesses on 
the undeserving and -worthless — assure him that I bring 
ample documents of meritorious demerits! — pledge 
yourself for me, that for the glorious cause of lucee, 
I will do any thing, be any thing — but the horse-leech 
of private oppression, or the culture of public rob- 
bery ! 



Religion, my honoured friend, is surely a simple bu- 
siness, as it equally concerns the ignorant and the learn- 
ed, the poor and the rich. That there is an incompre- 
hensible Great Being, to whom I owe my existence, 
and that he must be intimately acquainted with the 
operations and progress of the internal machinery, and 
consequent outward deportment of this creature which 
he has made, these are, I think self-evident proposi- 
tions. That there is a real and eternal cl istinction be- 
tween virtue and vice, and consequently, that I am an 
accountable creature ; that from the seeming nature of 
the human mind, as well as from the evident imper- 
fection, nay, positive injustice in the administration of 
affairs, both in the natural and moral worlds, there 
must be a retributive scene of existence beyond the 
grave, must, I think, be allowed by every one, who will 
give himself a moment's reflection. I will go farther 
and affirm, that from the sublimity, 'excellence, and 
purity of his doctrines and precepts, unparalleled by 
all the aggregated wisdom and learning of many pre- 
ceding ages, though, to appearance, he himself was the 
obscurest and most illiterate of our species — therefore 
Jesus Christ was from God ! 



xxiv J 

Whatever mitigates the woes, or increases the hap- 
piness of others, this is my criterion of goodness ; and 
whatever injures society at large, or any individual in 
it — this is my measure of iniquity. What think you, 
madam, of my creed ? 



1 



Religion, my dear friend, is the true comfort ! A 
strong persuasion in a future state of existence; a pro- 
position so obviously probable, that setting revelation 
aside, every nation and people, so far as investigation 
has reached, for at least 4000 years, have in some form 
or other firmly believed it. In vain would we reason 
and pretend to doubt. I have myself done so to a very 
daring pitch, but when I reflected that I was opposing 
the most ardent wishes and the most darling hopes of 
good men, and flying in the face of all ages, I was 
shocked at my own conduct. I know not whether I 
have ever sent you the following lines, or if you have 
ever seen them, but it is one of my favourite quotati- 
ons, which I keep constantly by me in my progress 
through life, in the language of the book of Job : 

" Against the day of battle and of war," 

spoken of religion. 

'Tis this, my friend, that streaks our morning bright, 

'Tis this that gilds the horror of our night. 

When wealth forsakes us, and when friends are few, 

When friends are faithless, or when foes pursue; 

'Tis this that wards the blow, or stills the smart, 

Disarms affliction, or repels his dart ; 

Within the breast bids purest raptures rise, 

Bids smiling conscience spread her cloudless skies! 



[ XXV ] 

What strange beings we are ! Since we have a por- 
tion of conscious existence equally capable of enjoying 
pleasure, happiness, and rapture, or of suffering pain, 
wretchedness, and misery, it is surely worthy of an en- 
quiry, whether there be not such a thing as a science 
of life-, whether method, economy, and fertility of ex- 
pedients be not applicable to enjoyment; and whether 
there be not a want of dexterity in pleasure, which 
renders our little scantling of happiness still less, and a 
profuseness, an intoxication in bliss, which leads to sa- 
tiety, disgust, and self abhorrence. There is not a 
doubt but that health, talents, character, decent com- 
petency, respectable friends, are real substantial bless- 
ings ; and yet, do we not daily see those who enjoy 
many, or all these good things, contrive, notwithstand- 
ing, to be as unhappy as others, to whose lot few of 
them have fallen ? f believe one great source of this 
mistake, or misconduct, is owing to a certain stimulus 
with us, called ambition, which goads us up the hill of 
life, not as we ascend other eminences for the laudable 
curiosity of viewing an extended landscape, but rather 
for the dishonest pride of looking down on others of 
our fellow creatures seemingly diminutive in humbler 
stations. 



I am out of all patience with this vile world for one 
thing. Mankind are by nature benevolent ci\ 
except in a few scoundrelly instances. I do not think 
that avarice of the good things we chance to have, is 
born with us ; but we are placed here among so much 
nakedness and hunger, and poverty and want, that we 
are under a necessity of studying selfishness, in order 
that we may exist ! Still there are, in every age, a few 
souls that all the wants and woes of life cannot debase into 
selfishness, or even to the necessary alloy of caution and 

c 



[ xxvi | 

prudence. If ever I am in danger of vanity, it is when 
I contemplate myself on this side of my description and 
character. God knows, [ am no saint; I have a whole 
host of follies and sins to answer for; but if I could, 
and I believe I do as far as I can, I would wipe away 
all tears from all eyes. Adieu ! 

What, my dear C. is there in riches, that they nar- 
row and harden the heart so ? I think that were I as 
rich as the sun, I should be as generous as the day, but 
as I have no reason to imagine my soul a nobler one 
than any other man's, I must conclude that wealth im- 
parts a bird-lime quality to the possessor, at which the 
man in his native poverty would have revolted. 



This world of ours, notwithstanding it has many 
things in it, yet it has ever had this curse, that two or 
three people who would be the happier the oftener 
they met together, are almost, without exception, al- 
ways so placed as never to meet but once or twice a 
year, which, considering the few years of a man's life, 
is a very great evil tinder the sun, which I do not recol- 
lect that Solomon has mentioned in his catalogue of 
the miseries of man. I hope, and believe, that there is 
a state of existence beyond the grave, where the wor- 
thy of this life will renew their former intimacies, with 
this endearing addition, that we meet to part no more! 



-" Tell us, ye dead, 



Will none of you in pity disclose the secret, 
What 'tis you are, and we must shortly be !" 

A thousand times have I made this apostrophe to 
the departed sons of men, but not one of them has ever 



[ xxvii 

thought fit to answer the question. " O that some 
courteous ghost would blab it out!" but it cannot be ; 
you and 1, my friend, must make the experiment by 
ourselves and for ourselves. However, I am so convinc- 
ed that an unshaken faith in the doctrines of religion is 
not only necessary, by making us better men, but also 
by making us happier men, that I shall take every care 
that your little godson, and every, little creature that 
shall call me father, shall be taught them. So ends this 
heterogenous letter, written at this wild place of the 
w T orld, (Annan Water Foot, Aug. 22, 1792,) in the in- 
tervals of nrf labour of discharging a vessel of rum 
from Antigua. 



Alas, Madam ! who would wish for many years ! 
What is it but to drag existence until our joys gradu- 
ally expire and leave us in a night of misery— like the 
gloom, which blots out the stars one by one from the 
face of night, and leaves us without a ray of comfort 
in the howling waste ! _^ 



Of all the qualities we assign to the author and di- 
rector of nature, by far the most enviable is — to be 
able to wipe away all tears from all eyes. O what in- 
significant sordid wretches are they, however chance 
may have loaded them with wealth, who go to their 
graves, to their magnificent mausoleums, with hardly 
the consciousness of having made one poor honest heart 
happy! 



Still there are two great pillars that bear us up amid 
the wreck of misfortune and misery. The one is com- 



[ xxviii 

posed of the different modifications of a certain noble 
stubborn something in man, known by the names of 
courage, fortitude, magnanimity. The other is made 
up of these feelings and sentiments which, however the 
sceptic may deny them, or the enthusiast disfigure 
them, are yet, I am convinced, original and compo- 
nent parts of the human soul, those se?2ses of the mind, 
if I may be allowed the expression, which connect us 
with, and link us to those awful obscure realities, an 
all-powerful and equally beneficent God, and a world 
to come beyond death and the grave ! The first gives 
the nerve of combat, while a ray of hope beams on the 
field — the last pours the balm of comfort into the 
wounds which time can never cure. 



I do not remember, my dear Cunningham, that you 
and I ever talked on the subject of religion at all. I 
know 7 some who laugh at it, as the trick of the crafty 
few to lead the undiscerning many; or, at most, as 
an uncertain obscurity, which mankind can never 
know any thing of, and with which they are fools if 
they give themselves much to do. Nor would I quarrel 
with a man for his irreiigion any more than I would 
for his want of a musical ear. I w T ould regret that he 
shut out from what, to me and others, were such 
superlative sources of enjoyment. It is in this point 
of view, and for this reason, that I will deeply im- 
bue the mind of every child of mine with religion. 
If my son should happen to be a man of feeling, sen- 
timent and taste, I shall thus add largely to his en- 
joyments. Let me flatter myself that this sweet little 
fellow, who is just now running about my desk, will 
be a man of a melting, ardent, glowing heart, and an 
imagination delighted with the painter, and rapt with 
tbe poet. Let me figure him wandering out in a sweet 
evening, to inhale the balmy gales and enjoy the^grow- 



» xxix ] 

ing luxuriance of the spring, himself the while in the 
blooming youth of life. He looks abroad on all nature, 
and through nature up to nature's God! His soul by 
swift delighting degrees is wrapt above this sublunary 
sphere, until he can be silent no longer, and burst out 
into the glorious enthusiasm of Thompson : — 

" These, as they change, Almighty Father, these 
Are but the varied God. The rolling year 
Is full of thee!" 

And so on in all the spirit and ardour of that charming 
hymn. These are no ideal pleasures — they are real de- 
lights — and I ask, what of the delights among the sons 
of men are superior, not to say equal, to them ? And 
they have this precious vast advantage, that conscious 
virtue stamps them for heaven, and lays hold on them 
to bring herself into the presence of a witnessing, judg- 
ing, and approving God ! 



There had much need be many pleasures annexed 
to the estates of husband and father, for, God knows, 
they have many peculiar cares. I cannot describe to 
you the anxious sleepless hours these ties frequently 
give me. I see a train of helpless little folks — me and 
my exertions all their stay ; and on what a brittle 
thread does the life of man hang! If I am wipt off at 
the command of fate — even in all vigour of manhood, 
as I am — such things happen every day — gracious 
God 1 what would become of my little flock ! 'Tis here 
that I envy your people of fortune. A father on his 
death-bed^ taking an everlasting farewell of his children, 
has, indeed, woe enough, but the man of competent 
fortune leaves his sons and daughters independency and 
friends — while I — but I shall run distracted if I think 

c 2 



[ XXX ] 

SoTlf^a^ 60 " (HiSSalary ' aSCXCiSeman ■ 



I have nothing to say to any one as to which sect he 
belongs to, or what creed he believes, but I look on the 
man who is firmly persuaded of infinite wisdon"and 
goodness superintending and directing every drcum 
stance that can happen ,n his lot-I felicitate such a 
man as having a soi.d foundation for his mental enjoy 
ine.it, a firm prop and sure stay in the hour ofdSEE 
ty, trouble and distress, and a never failing anchor of 
hope when he looks beyond the grave • ° 



TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

Brow, on the Solway Frith 
. madaMj l*hJuhj,l im . 

I have written you so often, without receiving any 
answer that I would not trouble you again but for the 
circumstances ,„ which I am. An illness, which h„ 
long hung about me, in all probability will speed? 
send me beyond that bourne tchence" no traveller rl 
turns lour friendship, with which for many years 
you have honoured me, was a friendship dearest to my 
I. lour conversation, and especially your corres- 
pondence, were at once highly entertaining and in- 
stiructive. With what pleasure did I use to break up 
the seal! 1 he remembrance yet adds one pulse more 
to my poor palpitating heart. Farewell ! ! ! R. fi. 

N. B. The above letter was supposed to be his last 
production. 



DEDICATION. 



TO THE 



NOBLEMEN and GENTLEMEN 



OF THE 

CALEDONIAN HUNT. 

My Lords and Gentlemen, 

il SCOTTISH Bard, proud of the name, and whose high- 
est ambition is to sing in his country's service, where shall he 
so properly look for patronage as to the illustrious names of 
his native Land ; those who bear the honours and inherit the 
virtues of their Ancestors ? The Poetic Genius of my Coun- 
try found me, as the prophetic Bard Elijah did Elisha — at the 
Plough ; and threw her inspiring mantle over me. She bade 
me sing the loves, the joys, the rural scenes and rural pleasures 
of my natal Soil, in my native tongue : I tuned my wild, 
artless notes, as she inspired. — She whispered me to come to 
this ancient Metropolis of Caledonia, and lay my Songs un- 
der your honoured protection : I now obey her dictates. 

Though much indebted to your goodness, I do not approach 
you, my Lords and Gentlemen, in the usual style of dedica- 
tion, to thank you for past favours : that path is so hackneyed 
by prostituted Learning, that honest Rusticity is ashamed of 
it.— .Nor do I present this Address with the venal soul of a 



[ xxxii 1 

servile Author, looking for a continuation of those favours : 
I was bred to the Plough, and am independent. I come to 
claim the common Scottish name with you, my illustrious 
Countrymen ; and to tell the world that I glory in the title. 
—I come to congratulate my country, that the blood of her 
ancient heroes still remains uncomaminated ; and that, from 
your courage, knowledge, and public spirit, she may expect 
protection, wealth, and liberty. — In the last place, I come to 
proffer my warmest wishes to the Great Fountain of honour, 
the Monarch of the Universe, for your welfare and happiness. 

When you go forth to waken the Echoes, in the ancient and 
favourite amusement of your Forefathers, may Pleasure ever be 
of your party ; and may Social Joy await your return ! When 
harrassed in courts or camps with justlings of bad men and bad 
measures, may the honest consciousness of injured worth attend 
your return to your native seats ; and may domestic Happiness, 
with a smiling welcome, meet you at your gates ! May cor- 
ruption shrink at your kindling indignant glance ; and may 
tyranny in the Ruler, and licentiousness in the People, equally 
find you an inexorable foe ! 

I have the honour to be, 

With the sincerest gratitude and highest respect, 

My Lords and Gentlemen, 

Your most devoted humble servant, 

ROBERT BURNS. 

Edinburgh, 
April 4, 1787. 



xxxiii 

BURNS— THE POET. 



The last London papers inform, that the patrons and 
admirers of that sweet bard — the " Ayrshire Poet" will 
meet annually, on the 25th January, to celebrate his birth- 
day. At the last meeting, the following Ode, composed 
for the occasion by one of the company, teas read : 



JLiET others enamour' d of seasons more gay, 
Their harps to the primrosy April attune! 

Let them carol the sweets of the lilly-rob'd May, 
Or garnish their lays with the rose-bud of June! 

Not the season of beauty, the prime of the year, 

So charming, so lovely, to me can appear ; 

As the day, when the Poet, to Scotia so dear, 
First open'd his eyes on the bank of the Doon. 

Oh, that the lov'd Bard, ere his spirit was flown, 

Ere he bade a short life of misfortune adieu, 
Wide over my shoulders his mantle had thrown : 

I'd have breath' d a strain worthy of him and of you : 
But, alas ! cold for ever's the soul-kindling fire, 
Mute the tongue that could captivate, ravish, inspire, 
While the hands of the feeble awaken the lyre 
And the Muses sigh out, " Our adorers are few." 

Yet duly will we, as this season returns, 

With joy, to the lowly-roof d cottage repair, 
And as we pour out a libation to Burns, 

We'll toast the sweet dames of the Doon and the 
Ayr! 
And sing till each river, his woodlands among, 
Bid his rocks and his caverns re-echo the song, 
And the winds on their wings, waft delighted along 
Our esteem of the Bard, and our love to the Fair! 



CONTENTS. 



kife of the Author 
Extracts from his Letters 



i.i 
xxii 



The Twa Dogs. A Tale ... t 

Scotch Drink 1 

The Author's Earnest Cry and Prayer to the Scotch Represen- 
tatives in the Houie of Commons - - 
The Holy Fair - - . . . 4 
Death and Dr. Hornbook .... 
The Brigs of Ayr - . . • 3 * 
The Ordination ... 3 ? 
The Calf . . 46 
Address to the Dcil - ■** 
The Death and Dying Words of Poor Maillie - . 5 A 
Poor MailhVs Eleey - 5 , 
To J. S"** .... ' ' a 1 
A Dream 

A Vision - . . . . " . ~ 9 * 

Addrcs* to the Unco Guid, or :r.c Rigidly Righteous . 8c 

Tr>m Simpson's Elegy - . - - • 88 

Halloween • . - 
The Vul 1 Farmer's N;w-Yaar Morning's Salutation to his Auld " 

Marc, Maggie .... T „„ 

To a Mouse - 

A Winter Night - - - 

Epistle to Davie, a Brother Poet - - - i*6 

The Lament - 

Despondency. An Ode ... !*? 

Winter. A Dirge 

The Cotter's Saturday Night - - . • i o 

Man was made to mourn. A Dirge - - . j ?g 

A Prayer in the Prospect of Death - - - 14: 

Stanzas on the same occasion .... 

Verses left at a Friend's House 

The First Psalm .... *{ 

A Prayer - . . . - - " . £g 

The First Six Verses of the Ninetieth Psalm . j U9 



xxxiv 



To a Mountain Daisy - .... 150 

To Ruin - - -- ... - 15a 

To Miss L ~, with Beattie's Poems for a New-year's Gift - 154 

Epistle to a Young Friend - - - 155 

On a Scotch Bard gone to the West-Indies - - 159 

To a Haggis - - - - - - 161 

A Dedication to G*****H******* Esq. - - r 163 

To a Louse on seeing one on a Lady's Bonnet at Church - 167 
Address to Edinburgh - - - ---169 

Epistle to J. L****', an old Scotch Bard - - 172 
To the same - - - - - --I76 

Epistle to W. S*****, Ochiltree - - - - 180 

Epistle to J. R* *****, inclosing some Poems - - 186 

John Barleycorn. A Ballad - - • 1 89 

A Fragment, " When Guildford good ©ur pilot stood," - I93 

Song " It was upon a Lammas-night,'' ... 1^5 

Song, " Now westlin winds and flaughtcring guns," - 198 

Song, " Behind yon hills where Stinchar flows," - - 2oo 

Green grow the Rashes. A Fragment - - 2oz 

Song, " Again rejoicing Nature sees," - - 204 

Song, " The gloomy night is gathering fast," - - 2 ©6 

Song, u From thee Eliza, I must go," - - - 2©8 

The Farewell. To the Brethren of St James's Lodge, Tarholton 209 

Song, " No churchman am I for to rail and to write," - 2n 

Written in Friar's Carse Hermitage - *- - . 2 13 

Ode to the memory of Mrs —of - - - 2ij 

Elegy on Captain M H - - - 2i6 

lament of Mary Queen of Scots - - - 221 

To R ** G*** of F***, Esq. 223 

Lament for James Earl of Glencairn - " 226 

Lines sent to Sir John Whitefcrd with the foregoing - 229 

Tarn O' Shanter. A Tale - - - 230 

On seeing a wounded hare a fellow had shot at - 237 

Address to the Shade of Thomson - - - - 238 

Epitaph on a celebrated Ruling Elder - 239 

■ on a Noisy Polemic ... - ikjd. 

— — on Wee Johnnie - - - - 240 

For the Author's Father - - ibid. 

For R. A. Esq. - - - - ibid. 

— — For G. H. Esq. - - - 241 

A Bard's Epitaph ... ibid. 

On Captain Grose's Perigrinations - 242 

On Miss C** ■**>*** . . - - 245 

Song, " Anna thy charms my besom fires," - 246 

On the Death of J M'L - ibid 

Humble Petition of Bruar Water - - 248 

On scaring some water-fowl - - - 25 1 



276 



[ XXXV 

Written at the Inn at Taymouth ... 

Written at the Fall of Fyers - - - - 2*4 

On the Eirth of a Posthumous Child - ibid. 

The Whistle - ^ 

The Jolly Beggars - - - - 260 
The Kirk's Alarm - -'.-.. 
Song, written at a General Meeting of the Excise-Officers in 
Scotland . - - . _ 

The Twa Herds - - . . a ~g 

Holy Willie's Prayer - ... 2 %% 
The Inventory - - - . . -28c 

Epitaph on a Wag in Mauchline - 288 

On Miss J. Scott, of Ayr - - 2 g 9 

Toast given at the Commemoration of Rodney's Victory - ibid 

Song, The Lass that made the bed to me - - aoo 

Verses written on a window of the Inn at Carron - - 291 

Lines on seeing my favorite Walks stripped of their ornament — 292 

Song the Brave - 2 94 



POEMS 



CHIEFLY 



SCOTTISH. 



THE TWA DOGS* 

A TAL£. 

L WAS in that place o' Scotland's isle, 
That bears the name o' Auld King Coil, 
Upon a bonnie day in June, 
When wearing thro' the afternoon, 
Twa dogs that were na thrang at hame, 
Forgather'd ance upon a time. 

The first I'll name, they ca'd him Casar, 
Was keepit for his Honor's pleasure: 
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, 
Shew'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs, 
But whalpit some place far abroad, 
Where sailors gang to fish for Cod. 



( 2 ) 

His locked, letter d, braw brass collar, 
Shew'd htm the gentleman and scholar : 
But though he was o' high degree, 
The fient a pride na pride had he; 
But wad hae spent an hour caressin, 
Ev n wi' a tinkler-gypsey's messin : 
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, 
Nae tawted tyke, tho' e'er sae duddie, 
But he wad stan't, as glad to see him, 
And stroan't on stanes an' hillocks wi' him. 

The tither was a ploughman's collie, 
A rhyming, ranting, riving billie, 
Wha for his friend an' comrade had him, 
And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him, 
After some dog in Highland sang, * 
Was made lang syne — Lord knows how lang. 

He was a gash an' faithful tyke, 
As ever lap a sheugh or dyke. 
His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face, 
Ay gat him friends in ilka place. 
His breast was white, his touzie back 
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black ; 
His gawcy tail, wi' upward curl, 
Hung o'er his hurdies wi' a swirl. 

Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither, 
An unco pack an' thick thegither; 
Wi' social nose whyles snuff 'd an' snowkit, 
Whyles mice an moudieworts they howkit ; 
Whyles scour' d awa in lang excursion, 
An worry'd ither in diversion: 
Until wi' v dafiin weary grown, 
Upon a knowe they sat them down, 



Cuchullin's Do£ in Ossian's Fingal. 



( 3 ) 

And there began a lang digression 
About the lords 6* the creation. 



C2ESAR. 

I've aften wonder d, honest Luath, 
What sort o' life poor dogs like you have ; 
An' when the gentry's life I saw, 
What way poor bodies liv'd ava. 

Our Laird gets in his racked rents, 
His coals, his kain, and a' his stents : 
He rises when he likes himsel ; 
His flunkies answer at the bell; 
He ca's his coach ; he ca's his horse ; 
He draws a bonie silken purse, 
As lang's my tail, whare, thro' the steeks, 
The yellow letter' d Geordie keeks. 

Frae morn to e'en its nought but toiling, 
At baking, roasting, frying, boiling ; 
An' tho' the gentry first are stechin, 
Yet e'en the ha' folk fill their pechan 
Wi' sauce, ragouts, an' siclike trashtrie. 
That's little short o' downright wastrie. 
Our Whipper-in, wee blastit wonder, 
Poor worthless elf, it eats a dinner, 
Better than ony tenant man 
His Honour has in a' the Ian' : 
An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch in, 
I own it's past my comprehension. 



LUATH. 

Trowth, Casar, whyles they're fash't enough , 
A cotter howkin in a sheugh, 



( 4 ) 

Wr dirty stanes biggin a dyke, 

Baring a quarry, and siclike, 

Hiinsel, a wife, he thus sustains, 

A smytrie o' wee duddie weans, 

An' nought but his han' daurg, to keep 

Them right and tight in thack an' rape. 

An' when they meet wi' sair disasters, 
Like loss o' health, or want o' masters, 
Ye maist w^ad think, a wee touch langer, 
An' they maun starve o' cauld and hunger: 
But, how it comes, I never kend yet, 
They're maistly wonderfu' contented ; 
An' buirdly chiels, an' clever hizzies, 
Are bred in sic a way at this is. 



CESAR. 

But then to see how ye* re negleckit, 
How huff'd, and cuff'd, and disrespeckit! 
L — d, man, our gentry care as little 
For delvers, ditchers, an' sic cattle; 
They gang as saucy by poor folk, 
As f wad by a stinking brock. 

I've notic'd, on our Laird's court-day, 
An' mony a time my heart's been wae, 
Poor tenant bodies scant o' cash, 
How they maun thole a factor's snash : 
He'll stamp an' threaten, curse an swear, 
He'll apprehend them, poind their gear; 
While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble. 
An hear it a', an' fear an' tremble ! 

I see how folk live that hae riches ; 
But surely poor folk maun be wretches? 



( 5 ) 



They're nae sae wretched's ane wad think ; 
Tho' constantly on poortith's brink : 
They're sae accustom'd wi' the sight, 
The\iew o't gies them little fright. 

Then chance an' fortune are sae guided, 
They're ay in less or mair provided ; 
An' tho' fatigu'd wi' close employment, 
A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment 

The dearest comfort o' their lives, 
Their grushie weans an' faithfu' wives ; 
The prattling things are just their pride, 
That sweetens a' their fire-side. 

An' whyles twalpennie worth o' nappy 
Can mak the bodies unco happy ; 
They lay aside their private cares, 
To mind the Kirk and State affairs : 
They'll talk o' patronage and priests, 
Wi' kindling fury in their breasts, 
Or tell what new taxation's comin, 
An' ferlie at the folk in Lotion. 

As bleak-fac'd Hallowmass returns, 
They get the jovial ranting kirns, 
When rural life, o' every station, 
Unite in common recreation ; 
Love blinks, Wit slaps ; an' social Mirth 
Forgets there's Care upo' the earth. 

That merry day the year begins, 
They bar the door on frosty winds; 

A 2 



( 6 ) 

The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream, 
An' sheds a heart-inspiring steam ; 
The luntin pipe, an' sneeshin mill, 
Are handed round wi' right guid will ; 
The cantie auld folks, crackin crouse ; 
The young anes rantin thro' the house,— 
My heart has been sae fain to see them, 
That I for joy hae barkit wi' them. 

Still its owre true that ye hae said, 
Sic game is now owre aften play'd. 
There's mony a creditable stock 
O' decent, honest, fawsont folk, 
Are riven out baith root and branch, 
Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench, 
Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster 
In favour wi' some gentle Master, 
Wha, ablins, thrang a-parliamentin, 
For Britain's guid his poul indentin 






CJESAR. 



Haith, lad, ye little ken about it; 
For Britain's guid / guid faith! I doubt it. 
Say rather, gaun as Premiers lead him, 
An' saying aye or no\ they bid him : 
At operas an' plays parading, 
Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading; 
Or maybe, in a frolic daft, 
To Hague or Calais takes a waft, 
To make a tour, an' tak a whirl, 
To learn ban ton, an' see the worl\ 



There, at Vienna or Versailles, 
He rives his father's auld entails; 
Or by Madrid he takes the rout, 
To thrum guitar's, and fecht wi' nowt ; 



1 
it 



( 7 ) 

Or down Italian vista startles, 

Wh — re-hunting among groves o' myrtles : 

Then bouses drumly German water, 

To mak himsel look fair and fatter* 

An' clear the consequential sorrows, 

Love-gifts of Carnival signoras. 

For Britain s guid ! for her destruction ! 

Wi' dissipation, feud, an' faction. 



LUATH. 

Hech man ! dear sirs! is that the gate 
They waste sae mony a braw estate ! 
Are we sae foughten an harrass'd 
For gear to gang that gate at last! 

O would they stay aback frae courts, 
An' please themselves wi' countra sports, 
It would for ev'ry ane be better, 
The Laird, the Tenant, an' the Cotter! 
For thae frank, rantin, ramblin billies, 
Fient hate o' them's ill-hearted fellows; 
Except for breakin o' their timmer, 
Or speakin lightly o' their limmer, 
Or shootin o' a hare or moor-cock, 
The ne'er a bit they're ill to poor folk. 

But will you tell me, Master Casar, 
Sure great folks life's a life o' pleasure ; 
Nae cauld or hunger e'er can steer them, 
The vera thought o't need na fear them. 



CESAR. 

L — d, man, were ye but whyles whare I am, 
The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em* 



( 8 ) 






It's true, they need na starve or sweat, 
Thro' winter's cauld, or simmer's heat ; 
They've nae sair wark to craze their banes, 
An' fill auld age wi' gripes an' granes : 
But human bodies are sic fools, 
For a' their colleges and schools, 
That when nae real ills perplex them, 
They mak enow themsels to vex them ; 
An' ay the less they hae to sturt them ; 
In like proportion less will hurt them. 
A country fellow at the pleugh, 
His acre's till'd, he's right enough; 
A country girl at her wheel, 
Her dizzen's done, she's unco weel: 
But Gentlemen, an' Ladies warst, 
Wi' ev'ndown want o' wark are curst. 
They loiter, lounging, lank, an' lazy; 
Tho' deil haet ails them, yet uneasy ; 
Their days insipid, dull, an' tasteless ; 
Their nights unquiet, lang an' restless ; 
An' ev'n their sports, their balls, an' races, 
Their galloping through public places. 
There's sic parade, sic pomp, an' art, 
The joy can scarcely reach the heart. 
The men cast out in party matches, 
Then sowther a' in deep debauches ; 
Ae night they're mad wi' drink an' wh — ring, 
Niest day their life is past enduring. 
The Ladies arm-in-arm in clusters, 
As great and gracious a' as sisters ; 
But hear their absent thoughts o' ither, 
They're a run deils an' jads thegither. 
Whyles, owre the wee bit cup and platie, 
They sip the scandle potion pretty; 
Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks, 
Pore owre the devil's pictur'd beuks; 
Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard, 
An' cheat like onie unhang'd blackguard. 



( 9 ) 

There's some exception, man an' woman ; 
But this is Gentry's life in common. 

By this, the sun was out o' sight, 
An' darker gloaming brought the night: 
The bum-clock humm'd wi' lazy drone ; 
The kye stood row tin i' the loan ; 
When up they gat, and shook their lugs, 
Rejoic'd they "were na men but dogs; 
An' each took aff his several way, 
Resolv'd to meet some ither day. 



SCOTCH DRINK. 



Gie him strong' drink until he wink, 

That's sinking in despair ; 
An' liquor guid to fire his 61 a id 9 

That's prest wi' grief an' care ; 
There let him bouse, an' deep carouse , 

Wi' bumpers flowing o'er 9 
Till he forgets his loves or debts, 

An' minds his griefs no more. 

Solomon's proverbs, xxxi. 6, 7* 



JLjET other Poets raise a fracas 

'Bout vines, an' wines, an' drunken Bacchus, 

An crabbit names an' stones wrack us, 

An' grate our lug, 
I sing the juice Scots bear can make us, 

In glass or jug. 



( io ) 

O thou my Muse I guid auld Scotch Drink ! 
Whether thro' wimpling worms thou jink, 
Or richly brown, ream o'er the brink, 

In glorious faem, 
Inspire me, till I lisp and wink, 

To sing thy name! 

Let husky Wheat the haughs adorn, 
An Aits set up their awnie horn, 
An' Pease and Beans at e'en or morn, 

Perfume the plain, 
Leeze me on thee, John Barleycorn, 

Thou king o'grain! 

On thee aft Scotland chows her cood, 
In souple scones, the wale o' food ! 
Or tumblin in the boiling flood 

Wi' kail an' beef; 
But when thou pours thy strong heart's blood, 
There thou shines chief. 

Food fills the wame, an' keeps us livin ; 
Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin, 
When heavy dragg'd wi' pine an' grievin; 

But, oil'd by thee, 
The wheels o' life gae down-hill, scrievin, 

Wi' rattlin glee. 

Thou clears the head o' doited Lear ; 
Thou chears the heart o' drooping Care ; 
Thou strings the nerves o' Labor sair, 

At's weary toil ; 
Thou ev'n brightens dark Despair 

Wi' gloomy smile. 

Aft' clad in massy siller weed, 
Wi' gentles thou erects thy head ; 



( 11 ) 

Yet humbly kind in time o' need, 

The poor man's wine, 

His wee drap parritch, or his bread, 

Thou kitchens fine. 

Thou art the life o' public haunts ; 

But thee, what were our fairs and rants ? 

Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts, 

By thee inspired, 
When gaping they besiege the tents. 

Are doubly fir'd 

Hiat merry night we get the corn in, 
3 sweetly then thou reams the horn in ! 
3r reekin on a New-year mornin 

In cog or bicker, 
^ji' just a wee drap spiritual burn in, 

An' gusty sucker ! 

When Vulcan gies his bellows breath, 
\n' ploughmen gather wi' their graith # 
3 rare ! to see thee fizz an' freth 

T th' lugget caup! 
Then Burneicin comes on like death 

At ev'ry chap. 

STae mercy, then, for aim or steel ; 
The brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel, 
Brings hard owrehip, wi' sturdy wheel, 

The strong forehammer. 
Till block an' studdie ring an' reel 

Wi' dinsome clamour. 

When skirlin weanies see the light, 
Thou maks the gossips clatter bright, 
How fumblin cuifs their dearies slight; 

Wae worth the name ! 
NTae howdie gets a social night, 

Or plack frae them. 



( 12 ) 

When neebors anger at a plea, 
An' just as wud as wud can be, 
How easy can the barley-bree 

Cement the quarrel! 
It's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee, 

To taste the barrel. 

Alake! that e'er my Muse has reason 
To wyte her countrymen wi' treason ! 
But monie daily weet their weason 

Wi' liquors nice, 
An' hardly, in a winter's season, 

E'er spier their price. 

Wae worth that brandy, burning trash ! 
Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash ! 
Twins monie a poor, doylt, drunken hash, 

O' half his days ; 
An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash 

To her warst faes. 

Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well ! 
Ye chief, to you my tale I tell, 
Poor plackless devils like mysel ! 

It sets you ill, 
Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell, 

Or foreign gill. 

May gravels round his blather wrench, 
An' gouts torment him inch by inch, 
Wha twists his gruntle wi' a gfunch 

O' sour disdain, 
Out owre a glass o' whiskey punch 

Wi' honest men. 

O Whiskey ! soul o' plays an' pranks ! 
Accept a Bardie's humble thanks! 



( 13 ) 

When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks 
Are my poor verses ! 

Thou comes — they rattle i' their ranks 
At ither's a — s ! 

Thee, Ferintosh ! O sadly lost! 
Scotland lament frae coast to coast ! 
Now colic gripes, an* barkin hoast 

May kill us a' ; 
For loyal Forbes' charter d boast 

Is ta'en awa ! 

Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise, 
Wha mak the Whisky stelh their prize ! 
Haud up thy han', Deil ! ance, twice, thrice \ 

There, seize the blinkers ! 
An' bake them up in brunstane pies 

For poor d — n'd drinkers. 

Fortune ! if thou'll but gie me still 
Hale breeks, a scone, an' Whisky gill, 
An' rowth o' rhyme to rave at will, 

Tak' a' the rest, 
An' deal't about as thy blind skill 

Directs thee best. 
v 



B 



( 14 ) 



THE AUTHORS 



EARNEST CRY AND PRAYERf 



TO THE SCOTCH REPRESENTATIVES IN THE 



HOUSE OF COMMONS. 



Dearest of Distillation ! last and best ! 
— — How art thou lost /■ 



PARODY ON MILTON. 



JL E Irish Lords, ye Knights an' Squires, 
Wha represent our brughs an' shires, 
An 1 doucely manage our affairs 

In parliament, 
To you a simple Poet's prayers 

Are humbly sent. 

t This was wrote before the Act anent the Scotch Distil- 
leries, of session 1786 ; for which Scotland and the Author 
return their most grateful thanks. 

II 



( 15 ) 

Alas! my roupet Muse is hearse! 

Your Honors heart wi' grief 'twad pierce, 

To see her sittin on her a — 

Low i' the dust, 
An' scriechin out prosaic verse, 

An' like to burst ! 

Tell them wha hae the chief direction, 
Scotland an* mes in great affliction, 
E'er sin they laid that curst restriction 

On Aquavit*; 
An' rouse them up to strong conviction, 

An' move their pity. 

Stand forth, an' tell yon Premier Youth, 

The honest, open, naked truth : 

Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth, 

His servants humble : 
The muckle devil blaw ye south, 

If ye dissemble! 

Does ony great man glunch an' gloom ; 
Speak out, an' never fash your thumb ! 
Let posts an' pensions sink or soom ! 

Wi' them wha grant 'em : 
If honestly they canna come, 

Far better want 'em. 

In gath'rin' votes you were na slack ; 
Now stand as tightly by your tack ; 
Ne'er claw your lug, an' fidge your back, 

An' hum an' haw ; 
But raise your arm, an' tell your crack 

Before them a'. 

Paint Scotland greeting owre her thrissle; 
Her mutchkin stoup as toomi a whissle ; 



{ 16 ) 

And d-mn'd Excisemen m a bussle, 

. Seizin' a Stell, 

Triumphant crushing like a mussel 
Or lampit shell. 

Then on the tither hand present her 
A blackguard Smuggler right behint'her, 
An cheek-for-chow, a chuffie Vintner, 
tv i . , Colleaguing join, 

fickmg her pouch as bare as Winter, 
Of a' kind coin. 

Is there, that bears the name o' Scot, 
But feels his heart's bluid rising hot, 
To see his poor auld Mither's pot, 

Thus dung in staves, 
An plunder'd o' her hindmost groat 

By gallows knaves? 

Alas! Fm but a nameless wight, 
Trode i' the mire out o' sight! 
But cou'd I like MontgomWies fight, 
rr , , Or gab like Boswell, 

I here s some sark-necks 1 wad draw tight, 
An' tie some hose well! 

God bless your Honors, can ye see't, 
The kind, auld cantie Carlin greet, 
An' no get warmly to your feet, 

An' gar them hear it, 
An' tell them wi' a patriot-heat, 

Ye winna bear it ! 

S ome o' you nicely ken the laws, 
T o round the period an' pause, 
A n' wi' rhetoric clause on clause 

To mak harangues ; 



( 17 ) 

Then echo thro' Saint Stephen's wa's 

Auld Scotland's wrangs. 

Dempster, a true blue Scot I'se warran ; 
Thee, aith-detesting, chaste Kilkerran ; 
An' that glib-gabbet Highland Baron, 

The Laird o' Graham ; 
An' ane, a chap that's d-mn'd auldfarran, 

Dundas his name. 

Erskine, a spunkie Norland billie ; 
True Campbells, Frederick an' Hay ; 
An' Livingstone, the bauld Sir Willie ; 

An' monie ithers, 
Wham auld Demosthenes or Tully 

Might own for brithers. 

Arouse my boys ! exhort your mettle, 
To get auld Scotland back her kettle : 
Or faith ! I'll wad my new pleugh-pettle, 

Ye' 11 see't or lang, 
She'll teach you, wi' a reekin whittle, 

Anither sang. 

This while she's been in crankous mood, 
Her lost Militia fir'd her bluid ; 
(Deil na they never mair do guid, 

Play'd her that pliskie !) 
An' now she's like to rin red-wud 

About her Whisky. 

An' L — d, if ance they pit her till't, 
Her tartan petticoat she'll kilt, 
An' durk an' pistol at her belt, 

She'll tak the streets, 
An' rin her whittle to the hilt 

F the first the meets ! 

B 7, 



( 18 ) 

For G— d sake, Sirs ! then speak her fair, 
An' straik her cannie wi' the hair, 
An' to the muckle house repair, 

Wi' instant speed, 
An' strive, wi' a' your wit an* lear, 

To get remead. 

Yon ill-tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox, 
May taunt you wi' his jeers an' mocks ; 
But gie him't het, my hearty cocks ! 

E'en cowe the caddie ! 
A,n' send him to his dicing box 

An' sportin lady. 

Tell yon guide bluid o' auld BoconnocJfs 

I'll be his debt twa mashlum bonnocks, 

An' drink his health in auld Nanse Tinnoctfs f 

Nine times a-week, 
If he some scheme, like tea an' winnocks. 

Wad kindly seek. 

Could he some commutation broach, 
I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, 
He need na fear their foul reproach 

Nor erudition, 
Yon mixtie-maxtie, queer hotch-potch, 

The Coalition. 

Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue ; 
She's just a devil wi' a rung; 
An' if she promise auld or young 

To tak their part, 
Tho' by the neck she should be strung. 

She'll no desert. 

t A worthy old hostess of the Author's in Mauchline, 
where be sometimes studies politics over a glass of gude auld 
Scotch Drink 









( 19 ) 

An' now ye chosen Five-and-Forty, 
May still your Mither's heart support ye ; 
Then, though a Minister grow dorty, 

An' kick your place, 
Ye'll snap your fingers, poor an' hearty, 

Before his face. 

God bless your Honors a' your days, 
Wi' sowps o' kail an' brats o' claise, 
In spite o' a the thievish kaes 

That haunt St. Jamie's ! 
Your humble Poet sings an' prays 

While Rab his name is. 



POSTSCRIPT. 



Let half-starv'd slaves in warmer skies 
See future wines, rich-clust'ring, rise ; 
Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envies, 

But blythe and frisky, 
She eyes her freeborn, martial boys 

Tak aff their Whisky. 

What tho' their Phoebus kinder warms, 
While Fragrance blooms and Beauty charms ! 
When wretches range, in famish'd swarms, 

The scented groves, 
Or hounded forth, dishonor arms 

In hungry droves. 

Their gun's a burden on their shouther; 
They downa bide the stink o' powther ; 
Their bauldest thought's a hank' ring swither 
To stan* or rin, 



( 20 ) 

Till skelp — a shot — they're aff, a throuther, 
To save their skin. 

But bring a Scotsman frae his hill, 
Clap in his cheek a Highland gill, 
Say, such is royal George's will, 

An* there's the foe; 
He has nae thought but how to kill 

Twa at a blow. 

Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him; 
Death comes! — wP fearless eye he sees him ; 
"WV bluidy hand a welcome gies him ; 

An' when he fa's, 
His latest draught o' breathin lea'es him 

In faint huzzas. 

Sages their solemn een may steek, 
An' raise a philosophic reek, 
An' physically causes seek, 

In clime and season ; 
But tell me Whisky's name in Greek, 

I'll tell the reason. 

Scotland, my auld, respected Mither ! 
Tho' whyles ye moistify your leather, 
Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather, 

Ye tine your dam ; 
Freedom and WJiisky gang thegither, 

Tak aff your dram ! 



Ui 



( 21 ) 



THE 



HOLY FAIR.* 



A robe of seeming truth and trust 

Hid crafty Observation ; 
And secret hu?ig 9 with poison 9 d crust, 

The dirk of Defamation : 
A mash that like the gorget show'd 9 

Dye-varyiiig on the pigeon ; 
And for a mantle large and broad, 

He wrapt him in Religion. 

HYPOCRISY A-LA-MODE. 



I. 



PON a simmer Sunday morn, 
When Nature's face is fair, 
I walked forth to view the corn, 

An* snuff the caller air, 
The rising sun owre Galstone muirs, 

Wi' glorious light was glintin ; 
The hares were hirplin down the furs, 
The lav'rocks they were chantin 

Fu' sweet that day. 

* Holy Fair is a common phrase in the West of Scotland 
for a sacramental .occasion. 



( 22 ) 



II. 



As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad, 

To see a scene sae gay, 
Three hizzies, early at the road, 

Came skelpin up the way : 
Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black, 

But ane wi' lyart lining; 
The third, that gaed a-wee a-back, 

Was in the fashion shining, 

Fu' gay that day. 



III. 

The twa appear' d like sisters twin, 

In feature, form an claes ! 
Their visage wither'd, lang an' thin, 

An' sour as ony slaes ; 
The third came up, hap-step-an-lowp, 

As light as ony lambie, 
An' wf a curchie low did stoop, 

As soon as e'er she saw me, 

Fu' kind that day. 



IV. 

Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, " Sweet lass, 

" I think ye seem to ken me ; 
H I'm sure I've seen that bonnie face, 

" But yet I canna name ye." 
Quo' she, an' laughin as she spak, 

An taks me by the hands, 
" Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en the feck 

" Of a' the ten commands 

11 A screed some day. 



( 23 ) 



My name is Fun — your cronie dear, 
" The nearest friend ye hae; 
An' this is Superstition here ; 
" An' that's Hypocrisy. 
I'm gaun to ********* Holy Fair, 
" To spend an hour in daffin : 
Gin yell go there, yon runkl'd pair, 
" We will get famous laughin 

" At them this day" 



VI. 

3uoth I, " With a' my heart, I'll do't; 

" Til get my Sunday's sark on, 
c An' meet you on the holy spot ; 

" Faith we'se hae fine remarkin !* 
rhen I gaed hame at crowdie-time, 

An' soon I made me ready ; 
7 or roads were clad, frae side to side, 

Wi' monie a wearie body, 

In droves that day. 

VII. 

lere farmers gash, in riclin graith, 

Gaed hoddin by their cotters ; 
rhere, swankies young, in braw braid-claith 

Are springin o'er the gutters, 
rhe lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang, 

In silks an' scarlets glitter ; 
Vi' sweet-milk cheese, in monie a whang, 

An' farls bak'd wi' butter 

Fu' crump that day. 



( 24 ) 



VIII. 

When by the plate we set our nose, 

Weel heapit up wi' ha'pence, 
A greedy glowr Black Bonnet throws, 

An' we maun draw our tippence. 
Then in we go to see the show, 

On ev'ry side they're gathrin ; 
Some carrying dales, some chairs an' stools, 

An' some are busy blethrin 

Right loud that day. 



IX. 

Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs, 

An' screen our countra Gentry, 
There, racer Jess, an' twa-three wh-res, 

Are blinkin at the entry. 
Here sits a raw of tittlin jades, 
Wi' heaving breast and bare neck, 
An' there a batch o' wabster lads, 

Blackguarding frae K ck 

For fun this day. 



Here some are thinkin on their sins, 

An' some upo' their claes; 
Ane curses feet that fyl'd his shins, 

Anither sighs an' prays : 
On this hand sits a chosen swatch, 

Wi' screw'd up grace-proud faces; 
On that a set o' chaps at watch, 

Thrang winkin on the lasses 

To chairs that day* 



( 25 ) 



XL 

O happy is that man an* blest ! 

Nae wonder that it pride him ! 
Wha's ain dear lass, that he likes best, 

Comes clinkin down beside him! 
Wi' arm repos'd on the chair back, 

He sweetly does compose him ; 
Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, 

An's loof upon her bosom 

Unkend that day. 



XII. 

Now a' the congregation o'er 

Is silent expectation; 
For ****** speels the holy door, 

Wi' tidings o' d-mn-t-on. 
Should Homie, as in ancient days, 

'Mang sons o' G — present him, 
The vera sight o 1 ******' s face, 

To 's ain het hame had sent him 

Wi* a fright that day. 



XIII. 

Hear how he clears the points o' faith 

Wi' rattlin an' thumpin ! 
Now meekly calm, — now wild in wrath, 

He 's stampin an' he 's jumpin ! 
His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd-up snout, 

His eldritch squeel and gestures, 
O how they fire the heart devout, 

Like cantharidian plasters, 

On sic a day. 

c 



( 26 ) 

XIV. 

But, hark! the tent has chang'd its voice; 

There's peace an rest nae langer : 
For a' the real judges rise, 

They carina sit for anger. 
***** opens out his cauld harangues, 

On practice and on morals ; 
An' aft' the godly pour in thrangs, 

To gie the jars an' barrels 

A lift that day. 

XV. 

What signifies his barren shine, 

Of moral pow'rs and reason ? 
His English style, an gesture fine, 

Are a' clean out o' season. 
Like Socrates or Antoni?ie 9 

Or some auld pagan Heathen, 
The moral man he does define, 

But ne'er a word o' faith in 

That's right that day. 

XVI. 

In guid time comes an antidote 

Against sic poison'd nostrum ; 
For ******* 9 frae the water-fit, 

Ascends the holy rostrum : 
See, up he's got the word o' G — , 

An' meek an' mim has view'd it ; 
While Common Sense has ta'en the road, 

An' aft',' an' up the Cowgate,* 

Fast, fast, that day. 

* A street so called, which faces the tent in — 



( 27 ) 



XVII. 

Wee ****** 9 niest the Guard relieves, 

An' Orthodoxy raibles, 
Tho' in his heart he weel believes, 

An thinks it auld wives' fables : 
But, faith! the birkie wants a Manse, 

So, cannily he hums them ; 
Altho' his carnal wit an' sense 

Like haffliiis-ways o'ercomes him 

At times that dav. 



XVIII. 

Now but an' ben, the Change-house fills, 

Wi' yill-caup Commentators : 
Here's crying out for bakes and gills, 

An' there the pint-stowp clatters ; 
While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, 

Wi' Logic, an' wi' Scripture, 
They raise a din, that, in the end, 

Is like to breed a rupture 

O' wrath that dav. 



XIX. 

Leeze me on Drink! it gies us mair 

Than either School or College : 
It kindles Wit, it waukens Lair, 

It pangs us fou o' Knowledge. 
Be't whisky gill, or penny wheep, 

Or ony stronger potion, 
It never fails, on drinking deep, 

To kittle up our notion 

By night or day. 



( 28 ) 
XX. 

The lads an' lasses, blythely bent 

To mind baith saul an' body, 
Sit round the table, weel content, 

An' steer about the toddy. 
On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk, 

They're making observations; 
While some are cozie i' the neuk, 

An' formin assignations 

To meet some day. 

XXL 

But now theL— d's ain trumpet touts. 

Till a' the hills are rairin, 
An' echoes back return the shouts ; 

Black ****** is na spairin : 
His piercing words, like Highlan' swords, 

Divide the joints an' marrow ; 
His talk o' H-ll, whare devils dwell, 

Our vera sauls does harrow,* 

Wi' fright that day. 

XXII. 

A vast unbottom'd, boundless pit, 

Fili'd fou o' lowin brunstane, 
Wha's ragin flame, an' scorchin heat, 

Wad melt the hardest whun-stane! 
The half asleep start up wi' fear, 

An' think they hear it roann, 
When presently it does appear, 

'Twas but some neebor snorin 

Asleep that day. 

* Shakespeare's Hamlet. 



( 29 ) 



XXIII. 

'Twad be owre lang a tale, to tell 

How monie stories past, 
An' how they crowded to the yill, 

When they were a' dismist : 
How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups, 

Amang the furms and benches ; 
An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, 

Was dealt about in lunches, 

An'dawds that day. 



XXIV. 

In comes a gaucie, gash Guidwife, 

An' sits down by the fire, 
Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife; 

The lasses they are shyer. 
The auld Guidmen, about the grace, 

Frae side to side they bother, 
Till some ane by his bonnet lays, 

An' gi'es them 't like a tether, 

Fu' lang that day. 



XXV. 

Waesucks! for him that gets nae lass, 

Or lasses that hae naething ! 
Sma' need has he to say a grace, 

Or melvie his braw claithing ! 
O Wives be mindfu', ance yoursel 

How bonnie lads ye wanted, 
An' dinna, for a kebbuck-heel, 

Let lasses be affronted 

On sic a dav. 
C 2 



( 30 ) 



XXVI. 

Now Clinkitmbell, wi' rattlin tow, 

Begins to jow an' croon ; 
Some swagger hame, the best they dow, 

Some wait the afternoon. 
At slaps the billies halt a blink, 

Till lasses strip their shoon : 
Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink> 

They're a' infamous tune, 

For crack that day. 






XXVII. 

How monie hearts this day converts 

O' sinners and o' lasses! 
Their hearts o' stane, gin night are gane, 

As saft as ony flesh is. 
There's some are fou o' love divine; 

There's some are fou o' brandy ; 
An' monie jobs that day begin, 

May end in houghmagandie 

Some ither day. 



( 31 ) 



DEATH 



AND 



DOCTOR HORNBOOK, 

A TRUE STORY. 



»OME books are lies frae end to end 
\nd some, great lies were never penn'd : 
Ev'n Ministers they hae been kenn'd, 
In holy rapture, 
\ rousing whid, at times, to vend, 

And nail't wi' Scripture. 

Jut this that I am gaun to tell, 
^Vhich lately on a night befel, 
s just as true's the Deil's in h-11, 

Or Dublin city : 
hat e'er he nearer comes oursel 

'S a muckle pity. 

"he Clachan yill had mltrfe me canty, 
was na fou, but just had plenty; 



( 32 ) 

I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent ay 
To free the ditches; 

An' hillocks, stanes, an' bushes, kenn'd ay 
Frae ghaists an witches. 

The rising Moon began to glowr 
The distant Cumnock hills out-owre: 
To count her horns, wi' a' my po\v r, 

I set mysel ; 

But whether she had three or four, 

I cou'd na tell. 

I was come round about the hill, 
And todlin down on Willie's mill, 
Setting my staff' wi' a' my skill, 

To keep me sicker; 
Tho' leeward whyles, against my will, 
I took a bicker. 

I there wi' Something did forgather, 

That pat me in an eerie swither; 

An awfu' scythe, out-owre ae shouther, 

Clear-dangling, hang; 
A three-tae'd leister on the ither 

Lay, large an lang. 

Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa, 
The queerest shape that e'er I saw, 
For fient a wame it had ava ; 

And then its shanks, 
They were as thin, as sharp an' sma' 

As cheeks o' branks. 

« Guid-een", quo' I; " Friend hae ye been mawin, 
" When ither folk are busy sawin? 



* This rencounter happened in seed-time, 1785. 



( 33 ) 

It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan', 

But naething spak; 
At length, says I, " Friend, whare ye gaun, 
« Will ye go back?" 

It spak right howe, — " My name is Death, 
u But be na' fley'd."— Quoth I, " Guid faith! 
" Ye're maybe come to stap my breath; 

" But tent me billie ; 
" I red ye weel, tak care o' skaith, 

" See there's a gully!" 

" Gudeman," quo' he, " put up your whittle, 
" I'm no design'd to try its mettle; 
" But if I did, I wad be kittle 

" To be mislear'd, 
u I wad na mind it, no that spittle 

" Out-owre my beard." 

" Weel, weel!" says I, fi a bargain be't; 
" Come, gies your hand, an' sae we're gree't; 
" We'll ease our shanks an' tak a seat, 

" Come, gies your news ; 
" This while * ye hae been mony a ^ate, 

" At mony a house." 

" Ay, ay!" quo' he, an' shook his head, 
, u It's e'en a lang, lang time indeed 
" Sin I began to nic the thread, 

An' choke the breath: 
" Folk maun do something for their bread, 
" An' sae maun Death. 

u Sax thousand years are near hand fled, 
" Sin I was to the butching bred, 



* An epidemical fever was then raging in that country. 



( 34 ) 

" An' mony a scheme in vain's been laid, 

" To stap or scar me ; 

u Till ane Hornbook's * ta'en up the trade, 

" An' faith, he'll waur me. 

" Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the Clachan, 
u Deil mak' hisking's-hood in a spleuchan! 
u He's grown see weel acquaint wi' Buchan f 

" An' ither chaps, 
" The weens haud out their fingers laughin, 
" And pouk my hips. 

" See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart, 
" They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart; 
" But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art, 

" And cursed skill, 
" Has made them baith no worth a f — t, 
" D-mn'd haet they'll kill! 

" 'Twas but yestreen, nae farther gaen, 

" I threw a noble throw at ane ; 

" Wi' less I'm sure I've hundreds slain: 

" But deil ma-care, 
" It just play'd dirl on the bane, 

" But did nae mair. 

" Hornbook was by, wi' ready art, 
" And had sae fortify'd the part, 
u That when I looked to my dart, 

" It was sae blunt, 
" Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart 
" Of a kail-runt. 

# This gentleman, Dr. Hornbook, is, professionally, a bro- 
ther of the sovereign Order of the Ferula, but, by intuition 
and inspiration, is at once an Apothecary, Surgeon, and Phy- 
sician. 

f Buchan's Domestic Medicine. 



( 35 ) 

M I drew my scythe in sic a fury, 
" I nearhand cowpit wi' my hurry, 
w But yet the bauld Apothecary 

" Withstood the shock; 
11 I might as weel hae try'd a quarry 

" O' hard whin rock. 

tc Ev'n them he canna get attended, 

u Although their face he ne'er had kend it, 

l* Just in a kail-blade, and send it, 

" As soon's he smells't, 
i* Baith their disease, and w T hat will mend it, 
" At once he tells't. 

16 And then a' doctor's saws and whittles, 
" Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, 
" A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles, 

" He's sure to hae ; 
u Their Latin names as fast he rattles 
" As A B C. 

:c Calces o' fossils, earths, and trees ; 
" True Sal-marinum o' the seas; 
" The Farina of beans and pease, 

" He has't in plenty; 
if Aqua-fontis, what you please, 

" He can content ye. 

" Forbye some new, uncommon weapons, 

* Urinus Spiritus of Capons ; 

• c Or Mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings, 

" Distill'dper se; 
t€ Sal-alkali o' Midge-tail-clippings, 

" And mony mae." 

" Waes me for Johnny Ged J s Hole* now," 
Quoth I, " if that thae news be true ! 

* The grave-digger. 



( 36 ) 

" His braw calf-ward whare gowans grew, 
u Sae white and bonnie, 

a Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plew; 
" They'll ruin Jonnie !" 

The creature grain' d an eldritch laugh, 
And says, " Ye needna yoke the pleugh, 
" Kirkyards will soon be tilPd eneugh, 
** Tak ye nae fear : 
u They'll a' be drench'd wi' mony asheugh 
" In twa- three year. 

u Whare I kill'd ane a fair strae death, 
u By loss o' blood or want o' breath, 
H This night I'm free to tak my aith, 

" That Hornbook's skill 
" Has clad a score i' their last claith, 

" By drap an' pill. 

u An honest Wabster to his trade, 

" Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel bred, 

" Gat tippence-worth to mend her head, 

" When it was sair ; 
" The wife slade cannie to her bed, 

" But ne'er spak mair. 

M A countra Laird had ta'en the batts, 
" Or some curmurring in his guts, 
" His only son for Hornbook sets, 

" An pays him well, 
" The lad, for twa guid gimmer-]) 

M Was Laird himseL 

" Abonnie lass, ye kend her name, 

" Some ill-brewn drink had hov'd her wame; 

" She trusts henel, to hide the shame, 

" In Hornbook's care; 



( 37 ) 

" Horn sent her aff to her lan°- hame, 
" To hide it there. 

" That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's way; 
" Thus goes he on from day to day, 
" Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay, 

" An'sweel paid for 't; 
Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey, 

u Wi' his d-mn'ddirt: 

But, hark! I'll tell you of a plot, 
Tho' dinna ye be speakin o't ; 
I'll nail the self-conceited Sot, 

" As dead's aherrin; 
" Niest time we meet, I'll wad a groat, 

" He gets his fairin ! M 

But just as he began to tell, 

The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell 

Some wee short hour ayont the twal, 

Which rais'd us baith : 
I took the way that pleas'd mysel, 

And sae did Death. 



D 



( 38 ) 



THE 



BRIGS of AYR, 



A POEM. 



INSCRIBED TO J. B *********, ESQ* AYR. 



1 HE simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough, 
Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough ; 
The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush, 
Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn bush ; 
The soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill, 
Or deep-ton'd plovers, grey, wild-whistling o'er the hill; 
Shall he, nurst in the Peasant's lowly shed, 
To hardy Independence bravely bred, 
By early Poverty to hardship steel'd, 
And train 'd to arms in stem Misfortune's field ; 
Shall he be guilty of their hireling crin* 
The servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes? 
Or labour hard the panegyric cl< 
With all the venal soul of dedicating Prose ! 
No ! though his artless strains he rudelj 

bis hand uncouthly o'er the string , 
1] -lows with all the spirit of the Bard, 



( 39 ) 

Fame, honest fame, his great, his clear reward. 
Still, if some Patron's gen'rous care he trace, 
Skill' d in the secret, to bestow with grace; 
When B*********befriends his humble name, 
And hands the rustic stranger up to fame, 
With heart-felt throes his grateful bosom swells, 
The godlike bliss, to give, alone excels. 



v Twas when the stacks get on their winter-hap, 
And thack and rape secure the toil-won crap; 
Potato-bings are snugged up frae skaith 
Of coming Winter's biting, frosty breath ; 
The bees, rejoicing ov'r their summer toils, ^ 

Unnumber'd buds an' flow'rs' delicious spoils, J> 

Seal'd up with frugal care in massive waxen piles, J 
Are doom'd by man, that tyrant o'er the weak, 
The death o' devils smoor'd wi' brimstone reek: 
The thundering guns are heard on ev'ry side, 
The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide; 
The feather'd field-mates, bound by Nature's tie, 
Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie : 
(What warm, poetic heart, but inly bleeds, 
And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds!) 
; Nae mair the flow'r in field or meadow springs; 
Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings, 
Except perhaps the Robin's whistling glee, 
Proud o' the height o' some bit half-lang tree: 
The hoary morns precede the sunny days, "l 

Mild, calm, serene, wide spreads the noon-tide blaze, ! 
While thick the gossamour weaves wanton in the f 
rays. J 

'Twas in that season, when a simple Bard, 
Unknown and poor, simplicity's reward, 
Ae night, within the ancient brugh of Jt/r, 



( 40 ) 

By whim inspir'd, or haply prest wi* care, 

He left his bed, and took his wayward rout, 

And down by Simpson's* wheel'd the left about : 

(Whether impell'd by all-directing Fate, 

To witness what I after shall narrate; 

Or whether, rapt in meditation high, 

He wander'd out he knew not where nor why), 

The drowsy Dungeon-clock f had number'd two, 

And Wallace Towr\ had sworn the fact was true : 

The tide-swoln Frith, with sullen-sounding roar, 

Through the still night dash'd hoarse along the shore: 

All else was hush'd as Nature's closed e'e ; 

The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and tree : 

The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam, 

Crept, gently-crusting, o'er the glittering stream.- 

When, lo! on either hand the list'ning Bard, 

The clanging sugh of whistling wings is heard ; 

Two dusky forms dart thro' the midnight air, 

Swift as the Gos % drives on the wheeling hare; 

Ane on th' Auld Brig his airy shape uprears, 

The ither flutters o'er the rising piers : 

Our warlock Rhymer instantly descry'd 

The Sprites that o'er the Brigs of Ayr preside. 

(That Bards are second-sighted is nae joke, 

And ken the lingo of the sp'ritual folk ; 

Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a', they can explain them, 

And ev'n the vera dells they brawly ken them). 

Auld Brig appear'd of ancient Pictish race, 

The vera wrinkles Gothic in his face: 

He scem'd as he wi' Time had waistl'd lang, 

Yet teughly doure, he bade an unco bang. 

New Brig was buskit in a braw new coat, 



* A noted tavern at the Auld Brig end. 

t The two steeples. 

% The gos-hawk, or falcon. 



( 41 ) 

That he, at Lon'on, frae ane Adams, got ; 
In's hand five taper staves as smooth 's a bead, 
Wi' virls and whirlygigums at the head. 
The Goth was stalking round with anxious search, 
Spying the time-worn flaws in ev'ty arch ; 
It chanc'd his new-come neebor took his e'e, 
And e'en a vex'd and angry heart had he ! 
Wi' thieveless sneer to see his modish mien, 
He, down the water, gies him this guideen — 



AULD BBIG. 

I doubt na, frien', ye'll think ye're nae sheep-shank, 
Ance ye were streekit o'er frae bank to bank ! 
But gin ye be a brig as auld as me, 
Tho' faith that day, I doubt, ye'll never see ; 
There'll be, if that day come, I'll wad a boddle, 
Some fewer whigmeleeries in your noddle. 



NEW BRIG. 

Auld Vandal ! ye but show your little mense, 
Just much about it wi' your scanty sense ; 
Will your poor, narrow foot-path of a street, 
Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet, 
Your ruin'd formless bulk o' stane an' lime/ 
Compare wi' bonnie Brigs o' modern time? 
There's men o' taste would tak the Ducat-stream*, 
Tho' they should cast the vera sark and swim, 
E'er they would grate their feelings with the view 
Of sic an ugly, Gothic hulk as you. 



* A noted ford, just above the Auld Brig. 
D % 



( 42 ) 



AULD BRIG. 



Conceited gowk! puff'd up wi' windy pride ! 

This mony a year I've stood the flood an' tide ; 

And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn, 

I'll be a Brig, when ye're a shapeless cairn! 

As yet ye little ken about the matter, 

But twa-three winters will inform ye better. 

When heavy, dark, continued, a'-day rains, 

Wi' deep'ning deluges o'erflow the plains; 

When from the hills where springs the brawling Coil, 

Or stately Litgar's mossy fountains boil, 

Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course, 

Or haunted Garpal* draws his feeble source, 

Arous'd by blust'ring winds an' spotting thowes, 

In mony a torrent down the sna-broo rowes; 

While crashing ice, borne on the roaring speat, 

Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the gate ; 

And from Glenbuck t, down to the Ratton-key +, 

Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd, tumbling sea ; 

Then down ye'll hurl, — deil nor ye never rise! 

And dash the gumlie jaups up to the pouring skies. 

A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost, 

That Architecture's noble art is lost ! 



NEW BRIG. 

Fine Architecture, trowth, I needs must say't o't! 
The L— d be thankit that we've tint the gate o't ! 



The banks of Garpal Water is one of the few places in the 
West of Scotland, where those fancy scaring beings, known 
by the name of Ghaists, still continue pertinaciously to inhabit. 

t The source of the river of Ayr. 

t r A small landing-place above the large key. 



} 



( 43 ) 

Gaunt, ghastly* ghaist-alluring edifices, 
Hanging, with threatening jut, like precipices; 
O'er-arching mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves, 
Supporting roofs fantastic, stony groves : 
Windows and doors, in nameless sculptures drest, 
With order, symmetry, or -taste unblest ; 
Forms like some bedlam Statuary's dream, 
The craz'd creations of misguided whim ; 
Forms might be worshipp'd on the bended knee, 
And still the second dread command be free, 
Their likeness is not found on earth, in air, or sea, 
Mansions that would disgrace the building taste 
Of any mason reptile, bird or beast ; 
Fit only for a doited Monkish race, 
Or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace, 
Or Cutis of latter times, wha held the notion 
That sullen gloom was sterling true devotion ; 
Fancies that our guid Brugh denies protection, 
And soon may they expire, unblest wi' resurrection! 



AULD BRIG. 

O ye, my dear-remember'd, ancient yealings, 
Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings ! 
Ye worthy Proveses, an* mony a Bailie, 
Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil ay ; 
Ye dainty Deacons, an' ye douce Conveeners, 
To whom our moderns are but causey cleaners ; 
Ye godly Councils wha hae blest this town ; 
Ye godly Brethren of the sacred gown, 
Wha meekly gae your hurdies to the smiters ; 
And (what would now be strange) ye godly Writers 
A' ye douce folk I've born aboon the broo, 
Were ye but here, what would ye say or do ! 
How would your spirits groan in deep vexation, 
To see each melancholy alteration ; 



( 44 ) 

And agonizing, curse the time and place 
When ye begat the base degen'rate race! 
Nae langer Rev'rend Men, their country's glory, 
In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain braid story ! 
Nae langer thrifty Citizens, an' douce, 
Meet owre a pint, or in the Council-house ; 
But staumrel, corky-headed, graceless Gentry, 
The herryment and ruin of the country; 
Men, three-parts made by Taylors and by Barbers, 
Wha waste your wheel-hain'd gear on d — d new Brigs 
and Harbours ! 



NEW BRIG* 

Now baud you there ! for faith ye've said enough, 

And muckle mair than ye can mak to through. 

As for your Priesthood, I shall say but little, 

Corbies and Clergy are a shot right kittle : 

But under favour o' your langer beard, 

Abuse o' Magistrates might weel be spar'd : 

To liken them to your auld-warld squad, 

I must needs say, comparisons are odd. 

In Ayr, Wag-wits nae mair can hae a handle 

To mouth ' a Citizen,' a term o' scandal : 

Nae mair the Council waddles down the street, 

In all the pomp of ignorant conceit; 

Men wha grew wise priggin owre hops an* raisins, 

Or gather' d lib'ral views in Bonds and Seisins. 

If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp, 

Had shor'd them with a glimmer of his lamp, 

And would to common sense, for once betray'd them, 

Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them. 



What farther clishmaclavar might been said, 
What bloody wars, if Sprites had blood to shed, 



( 45 ) 

No man can tell ; but all before their sight, 
A fairy train appear'd in order bright: 
Adown the glittering stream they featly danc'd ; 
Bright to the moon their various dresses glanc'd ; 
They footed o'er the wat'ry glass so neat, 
The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet ; 
While arts of Minstrelsy among them rung, 
And soul ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung. 
O had M'Lauchhui*, thairm-inspiring Sage, 
Been there to hear this heavenly band engage, 
When thro' his dear Strathspeys they bore with 

Highland rage ; 
Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs, 
The lover's raptur'd joys or bleeding cares ; 
How would his Highland lug been nobler fir'd, 
And ev'n his matchless hand with finer touch inspir'd ! 
No guess could tell what instrument appear'd, 
But all the soul of Music's self was heard; 
Harmonious concert rung in every part, 
While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart. 

The Genius of the Stream in front appears, 

A venerable Chief advanced in years; 

His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd, 

His manly leg with garter tangle bound. 

Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring, 

Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand with Spring ; 

Then crown'd with flow'ry hay, came Rural Joy, 

And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye : 

All-chearing Plenty, with her flowing horn, 

Led yellow Autumn wreath'd with nodding corn ; 

Then Winter's time-bleach 'd locks did hoary show, 

By Hospitality with cloudless brow. 

Next followed Courage with his martial stride, 

From where the Feed wild-woody coverts hide ; 

* A well known performer of Scottish music on the violin. 



( 46 ) 

Benevolence, with mild, benignant air, / 
A female form, came from the tow'rs of Stair: 
Learning and Worth in equal measures trode, 
From simple Catrine, their long-lovM abode : 
Last, white-rob' d Peace, crown'd with a hazle wreath 
To rustic Agriculture did bequeath 
The broken, iron instruments of death ; 
At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling, 
wrath. 



THE 

ORDINATION. 



For sense they Utile owe to frugal Heav'n— 
To please the Mob, they hide the Utile giv'n* 



I. 

Kilmarnock Wabsters fidge an claw, 

An' pour your creeshie nations; 
An' ye wha leather rax an' draw, 

Of a' denominations; 
Switli to the Latgh Kirk, ane an' a', 

An' there tak up your stations; 
Then aff to B — gb—s in a raw, 

An' pour divine libations 

For joy this day. 



( 47 ) 
II. 

Curst common-sense, that imp o'h— 11, 

Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder + ; 
But 0******aft made her yell, 

An' R**** sair misca'd her ; 
This day M'****** taks the flail, 

An he's the boy will blaud her ! 
He'll clap a shangan on her tail, 

An* set the bairns to daud her 

Wi' dirt this day. 



III. 

Mak haste an' turn King David owre 

An' lilt wi' holy clangor ; 
O' double verse come gie us four, 

An' skirl up the Bangor : 
This day the Kirk kicks up a stoure, 

Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her, 
For Heresy is in her pow'r, 

And gloriously she'll whang her 

Wi' pith this day. 



IV. 

Come, let a proper text be read, 

An' touch it afr wi' vigour, 
How graceless Ham* leugh at his Dad, 

Which made Canaan a niger ; 

% Alluding to a scoffing balled which was made on the ad- 
mission of the late Reverend and worthy Mr. L to 

the Laidi Kirk. 



a L 



* Genesis, ch. ix. ver. 22. 



( 48 ) 

Or Phineasf drove the murdering blade, 
\VT wh— re-abhorring rigour; 

Or Zipporah J, the scauldin jad, 
Was like a bluidy tiger 

I' th* inn that day. 



There, try his mettle on the creed, 

And bind him down wi' caution, 
That stipend is a carnal weed 

He taks but for the fashion; 
And gie him o'er the flock, to feed, 

And punish each transgression ; 
Especial, rains that cross the breed, 

Gie them sufficient threshin, 

Spare them nae day. 

VI. 

Now auld Kilmarnock cock thy tail, 

And toss thy horns fu canty ; 
Nae mair thou It rowte out-owre the dale, 

Because thy pasture s scanty ; 
For lapfu's large o' gospel kail 
Shall fill thy crib in plenty, 
An funis o grace the pick and wale, 
No si'en by way o' dainty, 

J But ilka day. 

VII. 

Nae mair by BabePs streams we 11 weep, 
To think upon our Zion ; 

f Numbers, cb. xxv. v. 8. 
X Exodus, cb. iv. ver. 25. 



( 49 ) 

And hing our fiddles up to sleep, 

Like baby-clouts a-dryin ; 
Come, screw the pegs wf tunefu cheep, 

And o'er the thairms be tryin ; 
Oh, rare ! to see our elbucks wheep, 

And a like lamb-tails flyin 

Fu fast this day ! 

VIIL 

Lang Patronage, W? rod o' aim, 

Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin, 
As lately F—nw—ck, sair forfairn, 

Has proven to its ruin ; 
Our Patron, honest man ! Glencairn, 

He saw mischief was brewin ; 
And like a godly elect bairn, 

He s wal'd us" out a true ane, 

And sound this day, 

IX. 

Now R* ****** harangue nae mair, 

But steek your gab for ever; 
Or try the wicked town of A**, 

For there they'll think you clever: 
Or, nae reflection on your lear, 

Ye may commence a Shaver; 
Or to the X-th-rt-n repair, 

And turn a Carpet-weaver 

xAff-hand this day. 



M***** and you were just a match, 
We never had sic twa drones : 

E 



( 50 ) 

Auld Homie did the Laigh Kirk watch, 
Just like a winkin baudrons: 

And ay he catch'd the tither wretch, 
To fry them in his caudrons : 

But now his Honour maun detach, 
Wf a his brimstone squadrons, 

Fast, fast, this day. 



XL 

See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes, 

She's Bwingein thro' the city; 
Hark, how the nine-tail'd cat she plays! 

I vow its unco pretty : 
There, Learning, with his Greekish face, 

Grunts out some Latin ditty ; 
And Common Sense is gaun, she saj 

To mak to Jamie Beattie 

Her plaint this day. 






XII. 

But there's Morality himsel, 

Embracing all opinion 
Hear, how he gies the tither yell, 

Between his twa companions ; 
See, how she peels the skin an' fell, 

As ane were peelin oni< 
Now there. packed aff to hell, 

And banish' d oui dominions, 

Henceforth this day. 



MIL 

O happy day! rejoice! rejoice! 

Come bouse about the por 



( 51 ) 

Morality's demure c 

Shall fa d quarter : 

M >******* 5 R***** are the boys 

That Heresy can torture ; 
The her on a rape a hoy- 

And cow her measure shorter 

By th' head some day. 



XIV. 

Come, bring the tither mutchkin in. 

And here's, for a conclusion, 
Toev'ry New-light t mother's son, 

From this time forth, Confusion : 
If mair they deave us with their din. 

Or Patronage intrusion, 
We'll light a spunk, and, ev'ry skin, 

Well rin them atf in fusion 

Like oil, some day. 



t Ntrw-Uvht is a cant phrase, in the West of Scotland, for 
: religious opinions which Dr. Taylor of Norwidh 
defended so strenuously. 



( 52 ) 



THE 



CALF. 



TO THE REV. MR. 



On hit Text, Malachi, ch. iv. ver. 1. " And they shall go 
" forth, and grow up, like calves of the stall," 



R TGHT Sir ! your text I'll prove it true, 

Though Heretics may laugh ; 
For instance, there's yoursel just now, 

God knows, an unco Calf! 

And should some Patron be so kind, 

As bless you wi' a kirk, 
I doubt na, Sir, but then we'll find, 

Ye' re still as great a St irk. 

But, if the Lover's raptur'd hour 

Shall ever be your lot, 
i rid it, ev'ry heavily Pow'r, 

You e'er should be a Stot ! 






( 53 ) 

Tho', when some kind, connubial Dear, 

Your but-and-ben adorns, 
The like has been that you may wear 

A noble head of horns. 

And in your lug, most rev'rend J 

To hear you roar and rowte, 

Few men o' sense will doubt your claims 
To rank amang the nowte. 

And when ye' re number' d wi* the dead, 

Below a grassy hillock, 
Wi 1 justice they may mark your head — 

" Here lies a famous Bullock ! n 



ADDRESS 

TO THE 

D E I L. 



O Prince/ Chief of many throned Pow'rs 9 

That led th* embattV d Seraphim to War— mil ton. 



\J Thou ! whatever title suit thee, 
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, 
Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie, 

Clos'd under hatches, 
Spairges about the brunstane cootie, 

To scaud poor wretches ! 
E % 



( 54 ) 

Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, 
An' let poor damned bodies be; 
I'm sure snia' pleasure it can gie, 

Ev'n to a de?'l 9 
To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me, 

An' hear us squeel! 

Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame ; 

Far kend an' noted is thy name; 

An' though yon lowin heugh's thy hame, 

Thou travels far; 
An' faith ! thou's neither lag nor lame, 

Nor blate nor scaur. 

Whyles, rangin like a roarin lion, 
For prey, a' holes an' corners tryin ; 
Whyles, on the strong-wing'd tempest flyin, 

Tirling the kirks; 
Whyles, in the human bosom pryin, 

Unseen thou lurks. 

I've heard my rev'rend Grannie say, 
In lanely glens ye like to stray, 
Or where auld-ruin'd castles, gray, 

Nod to the moon, 
Ye fright the nightly wand' rer's way, 

Wi' 'eldritch croon. 

When twilight did my Grannie summon 
To say her pray'rs, douce, honest woman! 
Aft yont the dyke she's heard you bummin, 

Wi' eerie drone; 
Or, rustlin, thro' the boortries comin, 

Wi' heavy groan. 

Ae dreary, windy, winter night, 
The stars shot down wi' sklentin light, 



( 55 ) 

Wi' you, mysel, I gat a fright, 

Ayont the lough : 

Ye, like a rash-buss, stood in sight, 
Wi' waving sugh. 

The cudgel in my neive did shake, 
Each bristled hair stood like a stake, 
When, wi' an eldritch, stoor quaick, quaick* 

Amang the springs, 
Awa ye squatter'd, like a drake. 

On whistling wings. 

Let warlocks grim, an' wither' d hags. 
Tell how wi' you on ragweed nags, 
They skim the muirs, an' dizzy crags, 

Wi' wicked speed ; 
And in kirk-yards renew their leagues, 

Owre howkit dead. 

Thence countra wives, wi' toil and pain, 
May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain; 
For, Oh ! the yellow treasure's taen 

By witching skill ; 
An' dawtitj twal-pint Hawkie's gaen 

As yell's the Bill. 

Thence mystic knots mak great abuse, 
On young Guidmen, fond, keen, an'crouse; 
When the best wark-lume i' the house, 

By cantraip wit, 
Is instant made no worth a louse, 

Just at the bit. 

When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, 
An' float the jinglin icy-boord, 
Then Water-kelpies haunt the foord, 
By your direction, 



( 56 ) 

An' nighted Travelers are allur'd 

To their destruction. 

An' aft your moss-traversing Spunkies 
Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is: 
The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkies 

Delude his eyes, 
Till in some miry slough he sunk is, 

Ne'er mair to rise. 

When Masons mystic word an' grip, 
In storms an' tempests raise you up, 
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop, 

Or, strange to tell ! 
The youngest Brother ve wad whip 

Afl' "strati ght to h-U. 



"*O l 



Lang syne, in Eden's bonnie yard, 
When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, 
An all the Soul of Love they shar'd, 

The raptur'd hour, 
Sweet on the fragrant, flow'ry swaird, 

In shady bow'r : 

Then you, ye auld, snick-drawing dog ! 

Ye came to Paradise incog. 

An' play'd a man a cursed brogue, 

(Black be ye fa!) 
An' gied the infant warld a shog, 

" Maist ruin'd a\ 

D' ye mind that day, when in a bizz, 
Wf reekit duds, an' reestit gizz, 
Ye did present your smoutie phiz, 

'Mang better folk, 
An' sklented on the man of Uz J 

Your spitefu' joke ? 



( 57 ) 

An' how ye gat him i' your thrall, 
An' brak him out o' house an' hall, 
While scabs and blotches did him gall, 

Wi' bitter claw, 
An' lows'd his ill-tongu'd, wicked Scawl, 

Was warst ava? 

But a' your doings to rehearse, 
Your wily snares an' fechtin fierce, 
Sin that day Michael* did you pierce, 

Down to this time, 
Wad ding a' Lallan tongue, or Erse, 

In prose or rhyme. 

And now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin, 
A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin, 
Some luckless hour will send him linkin, 

To your black pit; 
But, faith! he'll turn a corner jinkin, 

An' cheat you yet. 

But fare you weel, auld Nickie-hen ! 
O wad ye tak a thought an' men 1 ! 
Ye aiblins might — I dinna ken — 

Still hae a stake — 
I'm wae to think upo' yon den, 

Ev'n for your sake ! 



• Vide Milton, Book VI. 



( 58 ) 



THE 

DEATH AND DYING WORDS 

O F 

POOR M A I L I E, 

THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE : 

AN UNCO MOURNFIT TALE. 



k S Mailie, an' her lambs thegither 5 
Wa^ ae day nibbling on the tether, 
Upon her cloot she roost a hitch, 
An' owre she warsi'd in the ditch: 
There, groaning, dying, she did lie, 
When Hughoc* he came doytin by. 

Wi' glowrin een, an' lifted han's, 
Poor Hughoc like a statue stan's; 
He saw her days were near hand ended, 
But, waes my heart! he could na mend it! 
He gaped wide, but naething spak; 
At length poor Maihe silence brak. 



A neibor herd-callan. 



( 59 ) 

" O thou, whase lamentable face 
Appears to mourn my woefu' case ! 
My dying icords attentive bear, 
An' bear them to my Master dear. 

" Tell him, if e'er agaki he keep 
As muckle gear as buy a sheep, 
O^ bid him never tie tbem mair 
Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair! 
But ca' them out" to park or hill, 
An' let them wander at their will : 
So may his flock increase, an' grow 
To scores o' lambs, an' packs o' woo' ! 

" Tell him, he was a Master kin', 
An aye was guid to me and mine ; 
An now my dying charge I gie him, 
My helpless lambs I trust them wi' him. 

" O, bid him save their harmless lives, 
Frae dogs, an' tods, an' butchers knives \ 
But gie them guid cow-milk their fill 
Till they be fit to fend themsel ; 
AiV tent them duly, e'en and morn, 
VV i teats o' hay an' ripps o' corn. 

" ^ n ' ma y the y nev er learn the gaets 
L>1 ither vile, wanrestfu' pets/ 
To slink thro' slaps, an' reave an' steal, 
At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail 
*> may they, like their great Forbears, 
£or monie a year come thro' the sheers- 
30 wives will £ie them bits o' bread 
An' bairns greet for them when they're dead. 

" Mypoor t°°P-?amb, my son an' heir, 
J, bid him breed him up wi' care! 



( 60 ) 

An' if he live to be a beast, 
To pit some havins in his breast! 
An' warn him what I winna name, 
To stay content wi* yowes at hame; 
An' no to rin an wear his cloots, 
Like ither menseless, graceless, brutes. 

u An' neist, my yowie, silly thing, 
Gude keep thee frae a tether string! 
O, may thou ne'er forgather up 
Wi' ony blastit, moorland toop ; 
But ay keep mind to moop an mell, 
WF sheep o' credit like thysel ! 



" And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath, 
I lea'e my blessin wi* you baith : 
An' when you think upo' your Mither, 
Mind to be kin to ane anither. 

" Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail 
To tell my Master a' my tale; 
An' bid him burn this cursed tether, 
An, for thy pains, thou se get my blether." 

This said, poor MaiHe turn'd her head, 
An' clos'd her een amang the dead. 



( 61 ) 



POOR MAILIE's 

ELEG Y. 



.LAMENT in rhyme, lament in prose, 
WT saut tears trickling down your nose; 
Qur Bardie's fate is at a close, 

Past a' remead ; 
The last sad cap-stane of his woes ; 

Poor Mailie s dead. 

It's no the loss o' waiTs gear, 
That could sae bitter draw the tear, 
Or mak our Bardie, dow r ie, wear 

The mourning weed : 
He's lost a friend and neebor dear, 

In Mailie dead. 

Thro' a' the toun she trotted by him ; 
A lang half-mile she could descry him ; 
Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him, 

She ran wi' speed : 
A friend mair faithfu' ne'er came nigh him, 

Than Mailie dead. 

I wat she was a sheep o' sense, 
An' could behave hersel wf mense : 

F 



( 62 ) 

Fll say't, she never brak a fence, 

Thro' thievish greed. 

Our Bardie, lanely, keeps the Spence 
Sin* Mailies dead. 

Or, if he wanders up the howe, 
Her living image in her yowe, 
Comes bleating to him o'er the knowe, 

For bits o' bread ; 
An' down the briny pearls rowe 

For Mailie dead. 

She was nae get o 9 moorland tips, 

Wi' tawted ket, an' hairy hips ; 

For her forbears were brought in ships 

Frae yont the Tweed : 
A bonnier Jteesh ne'er cross' d the clips 

Than Mailie's dead. 

Wae worth the man wha first did shape 
That vi'.e, wanchancie thing — a rape ! 
It maks guid fellows girn an gape, 

Wi' chokin dread; 
An' Robins bonnet wave wi* crape, 

For Mailie dead. 



O, a' ye Bards on bonnie Doon ! 
An wha on Ayr your chanters tune! 
Come, join the nielancholious croon 

O' Robin's reed! 
His heart will never get aboon! 

His Mailie dead! 



( 63 ) 



J. S 



T O 



# # # # 



Friendship ! Mysterious Cement of the Soul! 

Sveefner of Life, and Solder of Society i 

I owe thee much. ^ ^ 



DEAR S****, thesleest, paukie thief, 
That e'er attempted stealth or rief, 
Ye surely hae some warlock-bveet 

Owre human hearts ; 
For ne'er a bosom yet was prief 

Against your arts. 

For me, I swear by sun an' moon, 
And ev'ry star that blinks aboon, 
Ye've cost me twenty pair o' shoon 

Just gaun to see you ; 
And ev'ry ither pair that's done, 

Mair taen I'm wi you. 



( 64 ) 

That auld capricious cailin, Nature, 
To mak amends for scrimpit stature, 
She's turn'd you off, a human creature 

On her first plan, 
And in her freaks, on ev'ry feature, 

She's wrote, the Man. 

Just now I've taen the fit o' rhyme, 
My barmie noddle's working prime, 
My fancy yerkit up sublime 

Wi' hasty summon: 
Hae ye a leisure moment's time 

To hear what's comin? 

Some rhyme a neebor's name to lash ; 

Some rhyme (vain thought!) for needfu' cash; 

Some rhyme to court the countra clash, 

An' raise a din ; 
For me, an aim I never fash ; 

I rhyme for fun. 

The star that rules my luckless lot, 

Has fated me the russet coat, 

An' damn'd my fortune to the groat; 

But in requit, 
Has blest me wi' a random shot 

O' countra wit. 

This while my notion's taen a sklent, 
To try my fete in good black prent; 
But still the mair I'm that way bent, 

Something cries, " Hoolie ! 
" I red you, honest man, tak tent ! 

" Ye'll shaw your folly. 

" There's ither poets, much your betters, 

" Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, 

" Hae thought they had ensur'd their debtors. 



( 65 ) 

ff A' future ages; 
u Now moths deform in shapeless tatters, 
" Their unknown pages. 

Then farewell hopes o' laurel-boughs, 
To garland my poetic brows ! 
Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs 

Are whistling thrang, 
An' teach the lanely heights an' howes 

My rustic sang. 

I'll wander on with tentless heed 
How never-halting moments speed, 
Till fate shall snap the brittle thread ; 

Then, all unknown, 
I'll lay me with th' inglorious dead, 

Forgot and gone ! 

But why o' Death begin a tale ? 

Just now we're living sound and hale, 

Then top and maintop croud the sail, 

Heave Care o'er-side ! 
And large, before Enjoyment's gale, 

Let's tak the tide. 

This life, sae far's I understand, 

Is a' enchanted fairy land, 

Where Pleasure is the magic wand, 

That, wielded right, 
Maks hours like minutes, hand in hand, 

Dance by ftf light. 

The magic wand then let us wield ; 
For, ance that five-an'-forty's speel'd, 
See crazy, weary, joyless eild, 

Wi' wrinkl'd face. 
Comes hostin, hirplin owre the field, 

Wi' creepin pace. 
F % 



( 66 ) 

When ance life's day draws near the gloamin, 
Then fareweel vacant careless roamin ; 
An' fareweel chearfu' tankards foamin, 

An' social noise; 
An' fareweel, dear, deluding woman % 

The joy of joys f 

O Life ! how pleasant in thy morning, 
Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning [ 
Cold pausing Caution's lesson scorning, 

We frisk away, 
Like school-boys, at th' expectant warning, 

To joy and play. 

We wander there, we wander here, 
We eye the rose upon the brier, 
Unmindful that the thorn is near, 

Among the leaves; 
And tho' the puny wound appear, 

Short while it grieves. 

Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spot, 
For which they never toil'd nor swat ; 
They drink the sweet and eat the fat, 

But care or pain ; 
And, haply eye the barren hut 

With high disdain. 

With steady aim, some Fortune chase; 
Keen hope does ev'fy sinew brace; 
Thro 1 fair, thro' foul, they urge the race, 

And seize the prey : 
Then canie, in some cozie place, 

They close the day. 

And others, like your humble servan , 
Poor wights! nae rules nor roads observin; 



( 67 ) 

To right or left, eternal swervin, 

They zig-zag on ; 

Till curst with age, obscure an' starvin, 
They aften groan. 

Alas ! what bitter toil an' straining — 
But truce with peevish, poor complaining ! 
Is Fortune's fickle Luna waning ? 

E'en let her gang ! 
Beneath what light she has remaining, 

Let's sing our sang. 

My pen I here fling to the door, 

And kneel, "Ye Pow'rs !" and warm implore, 

" Tho' I should wander Terra o'er, 

" In all her climes, 
" Grant me but this, I ask no more, 

" Ay routh o' rhymes. 

u Gie dreeping roasts to countra Lairds, 

" Till icicles hing frae their beards ; 

u Gie fine braw claes to fine Life-guards, 

" And Maids of Honor ; 
" And yill an' whisky gie to Cairds, 

" Until they sconner. 

9 • A title, Dempster merits it ; 
" A garter gie to Willie Pitt ; 
" Gie wealth to some be-ledger'd Cit, 

" In cent, per cent. 
" But give me real, sterling Wit, 

" And I'm content. 

While ye are pleas* d to keep me hale, 
: I'll sit down o'er my scanty meal, 
: Be't icater-brose or muslin-kail, 

" Wi' chearfu' face, 
; As lang's the Muses dinna fail 

" To say the grace." 



( 68 ) 

An anxious e'e I never throws 
Behint my lug, or by my nose ; 
I jouk beneath Misfortune's blows 

As weel's I may ; 
Sworn foe to Sorrow, Care, and Prose, 

I rhyme away. 

ye douce folk, that live by rule, 
Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool, 
Compar'd wi' you — O fool ! fool! fool! 

How much unlike ! 
Your hearts are just a standing pool, 
Your lives, a dyke ! 

Nae hair-brain'd, sentimental traces 
In your unlettered, nameless faces ! 
In arioso trills and graces 

Ye never stray, 
But grauissimo, solemn basses 

Ye hum away. 

Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're wise ; 
Nae ferly tho' ye do despise 
The hairum-scairum ram-stam boys, 
The rattlin squad : 

1 see you upward cast your eyes — 

— Ye ken the road. — 

Whilst I — but I shall baud me there — 
WT you m -■ jang tmy where 

Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair, 

But quat my sang, 
Content wi* you to mak a pair, 

Whare'er I gang. 



( 69 ) 



DREAM. 



Thoughts, words , and deeds , the Statute blames 'with reason; 
But surely Dreams were ne'er Indicted Treason* 



[On reading, in the public papers, the Laurent's Ode, with the 
other parade of June 4, 1786, the Author was no sooner 
dropt asleep, than he imagined himself transported to the 
Birth-day Levee ; and in his dreaming fancy, made the 
following Address], 



Ltuid-morning to your Majesty, 

May heav'n augment your blisses, 
On ev'ry new Birth-day ye see, 

A humble Poet wishes ! 
My Bardship here, at your Levee, 

On sic a day as this is, 
ls sure an uncouth sight to see, 

Amang thae Birth-day dresses 

Sae fine this day. 



( 70 ) 



II. 

I see ye're complimented thrang, 

By mony a lord and lady; 
" God save the King !" 's a cuckoo sang 

That's unco easy said ay; 
The Poets, too, a venal gang, 

Wi' rhymes well turn'd and ready, 
Wad gar you trow ye ne'er do wrang, 

But ay unerring steady, 

On sic a day. 



III. 

For me ! before a Monarch's face, 

Ev'n there I winna flatter; 
For neither Pension, Post, nor Place, 

Am I your humble debtor: 
So, nae reflection on your Grace, 

Your Kingship to bespatter; 
There's monie waur been o' the race, 

And aiblins ane been better 

Than you this day. 



IV. 

'Tis very true, my sov' reign King, 

My skill may weel be doubted: 
But facts are cheels that winna ding, 

An' downa be disputed : 
Your Royal Nest, beneath your wing, 

Is e'en right reft an' clouted, 
And now the third part of Hie string, 

An' less, will gang about it 

Than did ae day. 



( 71 ) 



Far be't frae me that I aspire 

To blame your Legislation, 
Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire, 

To rule this mighty nation! 
But faith! I muckle doubt, my Sire, 

YeVe trusted ministration 
To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre, 

Wad better fill'd their station 

Than courts yon day. 



VI. 

And now ye've gien auld Britain peace, 

Her broken shins to plaister; 
Your sair taxation does her fleece, 

Till she has scarce a tester; 
For me, thank God, my life's a lease, 

Nae bargain wearing faster, 
Or, faith ! I fear, that, wf the geese, 

I shortly boost to pasture 

F the craft some day. 

VII. 

I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt, 

When taxes he enlarges, 
(An' Will's a true guid fallow's get, 

A name not envy spair^es,) 
That he intends to pay your debt, 

An' lessen a 1 your charges; 
But, G-d-sake! let nae swing-fit 

Abridge your bonie barges 

An' boats this day. 



( 72 ) 



VIII. 

Adieu, my Liege ! may freedom geek 

Beneath your high protection ; 
An may ye rax corruption's neck, 

And gie her for dissection! 
But since I'm here, I'll no neglect, 

In loyal, true aifection, 
To pay your Queen, with due respect, 

My feaity an subjection 

This great Birth-day. 



IX. 

Hail, Majesty Most Excellent ! 

While nobles strive to please ye, 
Will ye accept a compliment 

A simple poet gies ye? 
Thae bonnie bairntinie, Heaven has lent, 

Still higher may they heeze ye 
In bliss, till fate some day is sent, 

For ever to release ye 

Frae care that day. 



For you, young Potentate o' W , 

I tell your Highness fairly, 
Down Pleasures stream, wi' swelling sails, 

Tin tauid ye' re driving rarely; 
But some day ye may gnaw your nails, 

An' curse your folly sairiy, 
That e'er ye brak D r anas pales, 

Or ratti'd dice wi' Chdrne } 

By night or day. 



( 73 ) 



XL 

Yet aft a ragged Cowtes been known 

To mak a noble Aiuer: 
So, ye may doucely fill a throne, 

For a' their clish-ma-claver : 
There, him* at Agincourt wha shone, 

Few better were or braver ; 
An' yet, wi' funny, queer Sir Johyi, f 

He was an unco shaver 

For monie a day. 



XII. 



For you, right rev'rend O , 

iMane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter, 
Altho' a ribban at your lug 

Wad been a dress completer: 
As ye disown yon paughty dog 

That bears the Keys of Peter, 
Then, swith ! an get a wife to hug, 

Or, trouth ! yell stain the Mitre 
Some luckless day. 



XIII. 

Young, royal Tarry Breeks, I learn, 
YeVe lately come athwart her ; 

* King Henry V. 

t Sir John Falstaff, Vide Shakespeare* 



( 74 ) 

A glorious GalleyX, stem an' stern, 
Weel rigg'd for Venus barter; 

But first hang oat, that she'll discern, 
Your hymeneal charter, 

Then heave aboard your grapple aim, 
An' large upo' her quarter, 

Come full that day. 



XIV. 

Ye, lastly, bonnie blossoms a', 

Ye royal Lasses dainty, 
Heaven mak you guid as well as braw, 

And gie you lads a-plenty: 
But sneer na British Boys awa', 

For Kings are unco scant ay; 
An' German gentles are but sma\ 

They're better just than want ay 
On onie day. 



XV. 

God bless you a'! consider now, 

Ye're unco muckle dautet; 
But ere the course o' life be through, 

It may be bitter sautet : 
An' I hae seen their eoggie fou, 

That yet hae tarrow't at it; 
But or the day was done, I trow, 

The laggen they hae clautet 

Fu' clean that day. 



X Alluding to the News-paper account of a certain Royal 



t o 

Sailor's amour 



( 75 ) 



THE 



VISION. 



<fc*Z*"& 



DUAN FIRST.* 



A HE sun had clos'd the winter day, 
The curlers quat their roaring play, 
An' hunger' d maukin taen her way 

To kail-yards green, 
While faithless snaws ilk step betray 

Whare she has heen. 

The thresher's weary flingin-tree 
The lee-lang day had tired me ; 
And whan the day had clos'd his e'e, 

Far i' the west, 
Ben i' the spence, right pensiveiie, 

I gaed to rest. 

There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, 
I sat and ey'd the spewing reek, 



* Dunn, a term of Ossian's for the different divisions of a 
digressive Poem. See his CatA-Lida, vol 2. of M'fhersonU 
Translation. 



( 76 ) 

That fill'd, wi' hoast-provoking smeek, 

The auld, clay biggin; 

An' heard the restless rattons squeak 
About the riggin. 

All in this mottie, misty clime, 
I backward mus'd on wasted time, 
How I had spent my youthfu' prime, 

An' done nae-thing, 
But stringin blethers up in rhmye, 

For fools to sing. 

Had I to guid advice but harkit, 
I might, by this, hae led a market, 
Or strutted in a bank an' clarkit 

My cash-account; 
While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit, 

Is a' th' amount. 

I started, mutt'ring, blockhead ! coof ! 
And heav'd on high my waukit loof, 
To swear by a' yon starry roof, 

Or some rash aith, 
That I, henceforth, would be rhyme-proof 

Till my last breath 

When click ! the string the snick did draw : 
And jee ! the door gaed to the wa' ; 
And by my ingle-lowe I saw, 

Now bleezin bright, 
A tight, outlandish Hizzie, braw, 

Come full in sight 

Ye need na doubt, I held my whisht ; 
The infant aith, half-form'd was crusht — 
I glowr'd as eerie'a I'd been dusht 

In some wild glen ; 



( 77 ) 

When sweet, like modest worth, she blusht, 
And stepped ben. 

Green, slender, leaf-clad Holly-boughs 
Were twisted, gracefu', round her brows, 
I took her for some Scottish Muse, 

By that same token ; 
An' come to stop those reckless vows, 

Wou'd soon been broken, 

A " hair-brain'd sentimental trace ' 
Was strongly marked in her face ; 
A wildly-witty, rustic grace 

Shone full upon her ; 
Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, 

Beam'd keen with honor. 

Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen, 
Till half a leg was scrimply seen ; 
And such a leg ! my bonnie Jean 

Could only peer it ; 
Sae straught, sae taper, tight and clean, 

Nane else came near it. 

Her mantle large, of greenish hue, 

My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; 

Deep lights and shades, bold mingling, threw 

A lustre grand ; 
And seem'd to my astonish' d view, 

A well known land. 

Here rivers in the sea were lost ; 
There, mountains to the skies were tost 
Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast, 

With surging foam ; 
There, distant shone art's lofty boast, 
The lordly dome. 
G x 



( 78 ) 

Here, Doon pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods : 
There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds : 
Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' his woods, 

On to the shore ; 
And many a lesser torrent scuds, 

With seeming roar. 

Low in a sandy valley spread, 

An ancient Borough rear'd her head ; 

Still, as in Scottish story read, 

She boasts a race, 
To ev'ry nobler virtue bred, 

And polish' d grace. 

By stately tow'r or palace fair, 

Or ruins pendent in the air, 

Bold stems of heroes, here and there, 

I could discern ; 
Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare, 

With feature stern. 

My heart did glowing transport feel, 

To see a race* heroic wheel, 

And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel 

In sturdy blows ; 
While back recoiling seemM to reel 

Their Suthron foes. 

His Country's Saviour t, mark him well! 
Bold Richardton's % heroic swell ; 
The chief on Sark § who glorious fell, 
In high command ; 

* The Wallaces. 

t William Wallace. 

X Adam Wallace of Richardton, cousin to the immortal 
Preserver of Scottish Independence. 

§ Walhice, Laird of Cragie, who was second in command, 



( 79 ) 

And he whom ruthless fates expell 
His native land. 

There, where a sceptr'd Pictish shade * 
Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid, 
I mark'd a martial race, pourtray'd 

In colours strong ; 
Bold soldier-featur'd, undismay'd 

They strode along. 

Thro' many a wild, romantic grove f 
Near many a hermit-fancy' d cove, 
(Fit haunts for Friendship or for Love, 

In musing mood) 
An aged Judge, I saw him rove, 

Dispensing good. 

With deep-struck reverential awe*, 
The learned Sire and Son I saw, 
To Nature's God and Nature's law 

They gave their lore, 
This, all its source and end to draw, 

That to adore. 



under Douglas, Earl of Ormond, at the famous battle on the 
banks of Sark, fought anno 1448. That glorious victory was 
principally owing to the judicious conduct and intrepid valour 
of the gallant Laird of Cragie, who died of his wounds after 
the action. 

* Coil us, King of the Picts, from whom the district of Kyle 
is said to take its name, lies buried, as tradition says, near the 
family-seat of the Montgomeries of Coils-field, where his bu- 
rial place is still shown. 

f Barskimming, the seat of the Lord Justice-Clerk. 

% Catrine, the seat of the late Doctor, and present Professor 
Stewart. 



( 80 ) 

Bryde?i's brave ward t I well could spy, 
Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye ; 
Who call'd on Fame, low standing by, 

To hand him on, 
Where many a patriot-name on high 
And hero shone. 



DUAN SECOND. 

With musing-deep, astonish'd stare, 
I view'd the heavenly-seeming Fair ; 
A whispering throb did witness bear 

Of kindred sweet, 
When with an elder sister's air 

She did me greet. 

" All hail ! my own inspired Bard ! 
" In me thy native Muse regard! 
" Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard, 

" Thus poorly low ! 
" I come to give thee such reward 

" As we bestow. 

" Know, the great Genius of this land 

" Has many a light, aerial band, 

u Who, all beneath his high command, 

" Harmoniousiy, 
" As arts or arms they understand, 

" Their labours ply. 

u They Scotia's race among them share ; 
" Some fire the soldier on to dare ; 
" Some rouse the patriot up to bare 

" Corruption's heart: 



f Colonel Fullarton. 






( 81 ) 

u Some teach the bard, a darling care, 
" The tuneful art. 

" 'Mong swelling floods of reeking gore, 
" They ardent, kindling spirits pour ; 
" Or, mid the venal senate's roar, 

" They sightless, stand, 

* To mend the honest patriot-lore, 

" And grace the hand. 

" And when the bard, or hoary sage, 
" Charm or instruct the future age, 
" They bind the wild, poetic rage 
" In energy, 

* Or point the inconclusive page 

" Full on the eye. 

" Hence Fullarton, the brave and young ; 
" Hence Dempster's zeal-inspired tongue ; 
M Hence, sweet harmonious Beattie sung 

His " Minstrel lays;" 
" Or tore, with noble ardour stung, 

" The Sceptic's bays. 

" To lower orders are assign' d 

" The humbler ranks of human kind, 

u The rustic bard, the lab' ring hind, 

" The artisan ; 
H All chuse, as various chey're inclin'd, 

u The various man. 

" When yellow waves the heavy grain, 

V The threatening storm some, strongly rein ; 

" Some teach to meliorate the plain, 

" With tillage-skill ; 
w And some instruct the shepherd-train, 

" Blythe o'er the bill. 



( 82 ) 

" Some hint the lover's harmless wile; 
* Some grace the maiden's artless smile ; 
" Some sooth the lab'rer's weary toil, 

" For humble gains, 
u And make his cottage-scenes beguile 

" His cares and pains. 

u Some, bounded to a district-space, 
46 Explore at large Man's infant race, 
" To mark the embryotic trace 

" Of rustic Bard ; 
" And careful note each op'ning grace, 

" A guide and guard. 

" Of these am I — CoiJa my name ; 
" And this district as mine I claim, 
" Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame, 

" Held ruling pow'r; 
" I mark'd thy embryo tuneful flame, 

" Thy natal hour. 

" With future hope, I oft would gaze, 

" Fond, on thy little early ways, 

f< Thy rudely caroll'd, chiming phrase, 

" In uncouth rhymes, 
" Fir'd at the simple, artless lays 

" Of other times. 

" I saw thee seek the sounding shore, 
u Delighted with the dashing roar; 
" Or when the North his fleecy store 

" Drove thro' the sky, 
" I saw grim Nature's visage hoar 

" Struck thy young eye. 

4 ' Or when the deep green-man tl'd earth 
11 Warm cherish'd ev'ry flow'ret's birth, 



( 83 ) 

u And joy and music pourin forth 
" In ev'ry grove 

u I saw thee eye the gen'ral mirth 

" With boundless love. 

" When ripen' d fields, and azure skies, 
" Calfd forth the reaper's rustling noise, 
" I saw thee leave their ev'ning joys, 

" And lonely stalk, 
" To vent thy bosom's swelling rise 

" In pensive walk. 

When youthful love, warm-blushing strong, 
" Keen shivering shot thy nerves along, 
" Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, 
" Th' adored name, 
I taught thee how to pour in song, 

" To soothe thy flame. 

I saw thy pulse's maddening play, 
Wild send thee pleasure's devious way, 
Misled by fancy's meteor-ray, 

" By passion driven ; 
But yet the light that led astray 

" Was light from Heaven. 

I taught thy manners-painting strains, 
The loves, the ways of simple swains, 
Till now, o'er all my wide domains 

" Thy fame extends ; 
And some, the pride of Cora's plains, 

" Become thy friends. 

" Thou canst not learn, nor can I show, 
" To paint with Thomsons landscape glow; 
£ Or wake the bosom melting throe, 

" With Shenstones art ; 



( 84 ) 

" Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow 
" Warm on the heart. 

u Yet all beneath th' unrivall'd rose, 

" The lowly daisy sweetly blows ; 

" Tho' large the forest's monarch throws 

" His army shade, 
" Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows, 

" Adown the glade. 

" Then never murmur nor repine; 

4( Strive in thy humble sphere to shine ; 

" And trust me, not PotosVs mine, 

" Nor king's regard, 
" Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine, 

" A rustic bard. 

u To give my counsels all in one, 
" Thy tuneful flame still careful fan ; 
u Preserve the dignity of man, 

" With soul erect ; 
" And trust, the universal plan 

" Will all protect. 

" And wear thou this" — she solemn said, 
And bound the Holly round my head : 
The polish'd leaves, and berries red, 

Did rustling play; 
And, like a passing thought, she fled 

In light away. 



( 85 ) 
ADDRESS 

TO THE 

UNCO G U I A 

OR THE 

RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS. 



My son, these maxi??is make a rule. 

And lump them ay thegither ; 
The Rigid Righteous is a fool , 

The Rigid Wise anither : 
The cleanest corn that e* er teas dig/it 

May hae some pyles 0' caff in ; 
So ne'er a ftlloxv-creature sight 

For random jits o y daffin. 

Solomon— Eccles. ch. vii. ver. 16. 



I. 



o 



YE wha are sae guid yoursel, 
Sae pious and sae holy, 
Ye've nought to do but mark and tell 
Your neebours' fauts and folly ! 

H 



( 86 ) 

Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, 
Supply'd wi' store o' water, 

The heapet happer's ebbing still, 
And still the clap plays clatter. 



IL 



Here me, ye venerable core, 

As counsel for poor mortals, 
That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door 

For glaikit Folly's portals ; 
I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, 

Would here propone defences, 
Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes, 

Their failings and mischances. 



III. 

Ye see your state v/i' their's compared, 

And shudder at the niffer, 
But cast a moment's fair regard, 

What maks the mighty differ ; 
Discount what scant occasion gave, 

That purity ye pride in, 
An (what's ait mair than a' the lave) 

Your better art o' hiding. 



IV. 

Think, when your castigated pulse 
Gies now and then a wallop, 

What ragings must his veins convulse, 
That still eternal gallop : 

Wi* wind and tide fair i' your tail, 
Right on ye scud your sea-way; 



( 87 ) 

But in the teeth o' baith to sail, 
It maks an unco leeway. 



See social-life and glee sit down, 

All joyous and unthinking, 
Till, quite transmugrify'd, they're grown 

Debauchery and drinking : 
O would they stay to calculate 

Th' eternal consequences ; 
Or your more dreaded h-11 to state, 

D-mnation of expences ! 



VI. 

Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames, 

Ty'd up in godly laces, 
Before ye gie poor frailty names, 

Suppose a change o' cases ; 
A dear-lov'd lad, convenience snug, 

A treacherous inclination 
But let me whisper i' your lug, 

Ye're aiblins nae temptation. 

VII. 

Then gently scan your brother man, 

Still gentler sister woman ! 
Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang, 

To step aside is human : 
One point must still be greatly dark, 

The moving why they do it ; 
And just as lamely can ye mark, 

How far perhaps they rue it. 



( 88 ) 






VIII. 

Who made the heart, 'tis He alone 

Decidedly can try us, 
He knows each chord its various tone, 

Each spring its various bias : 
Then at the balance let's be mute, 

We never can adjust it ; 
What's done we partly may compute, 

But know not what's resisted. 



TAM SAMSON'S ELEGY.* 



An honest man's the noblest work of God, 

POPE. 



H. 



.AS auld Kilmarnock seen the deil? 
Or great M'*******t thrawn his heel ? 



* When this worthy old Sportsman went out last muirfowl 
season, he supposed it was to be, in Ossian's phrase, ■ the 
last of his fields ;' and expressed an ardent wish to die and be 
buried in the rauirs. On this hint the Author composed his 
Elegy and Epitaph. 

f A certain preacher, a great favourite with the million. 
Vide the Ordination. 



( 89 ) 

Or R******* J again grown weel, 

To preach an' read ? 

u Na, waur than a'!" cries ilka chiel, 

" Tarn Samson's dead /" 

Kilmarnock lang may grunt an grane, 

An sigh, an' sab, an' greet her lane, 

An' dead her bairns, man, wife, an' wean, 

In mourning weed : 
To Death, she's dearly paid the kane, 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

The brethren of the mystic level 
May hing their head in wofu' bevel, 
While by their nose the tears will revel, 

Like ony bead ; 
Death's gien the Lodge an unco devel, 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

When winter muffles up his cloak, 
And binds the mire like a rock, 
When to the loughs the curlers flock, 

Wi' gleesome speed, 
Wha will they station at the cock, 

lam Samson's dead ? 

He was the king o' a' the core, 
To guard, or draw, or wick a bore, 
Or up the ring like Jehu roar 

In time of need ; 
But now he lags on Death's hog-score, 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 



X Another preacher, an equal favourite with the few, who 
was at that time ailing. For him see also the Ordination, 
stanza IX. 

H % 



( 90 ) 



Now safe the stately sawmont sail, 
And trouts bedropp'd wi' crimson hail, 
And eels weel ken'd for souple tail, 

And geds for greed, 
Since dark in Death's fish-creel we w r ail 

Tain Samson dead ! 

Rejoice ye birring paitricks a' ; 
Ye cootie muircocks crousely craw ; 
Ye maukins, cock your fud fa* braw, 

Withoutten dread ; 
Your mortal fae is now awa', 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

That wofu' morn be ever mourn' d 
Saw him in shootin graith adorn'd, 
While pointers round impatient burn'd, 

Frae couples freed ; 
But, och ! he gaed and ne'er return'd ! 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

In vain auld age his body bat ters ; 

In vain the gout his ancles fetters ; 

In vain the burns came down like waters, 

An acre braid! 
Now ev'ry auld wife, greetin, clatters, 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

Owre mony a weary hag he limpit 
An ay the tither shot he thumpit, 
Till coward Death behind him jumpit, 

Wi' deadly feide; 
Xow he proclaims, wi' tout o' trumpet, 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

When at his heart he felt the dagger, 
He reel'd his wonted bottle swagger, 



( 91 ) 

But yet he drew the mortal trigger 

Wi' weel-aim'd heed ; 

" L — d, five!" he cry'd, an 1 owre did stagger; 
Tarn Samson's dead ! 

Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a brither; 
116 sportsman-youth bemoan'd a father; 
Yon auld gray stane, amang the heather, 

Marks out his head, 
Whare Burns has wrote, in rhyming blether, 

Tarn Samson 1 s dead ! 

There, low he lies, in lasting rest ; 
Perhaps upon his mould'ring breast 
Some spitefu' muirfowl bigs her nest, 

To hatch an' breed : 
Alas ! nae mair he'll them molest ! 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

When August winds the heather wave, 
And sportsmen wander by yon grave, 
Three vollies let his mem'ry crave, 

O' pouther an' lead, 
Till Echo answer frae her cave, 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

Heav'n rest his saul, whare'er he be ! 
Is th* wish o' mony mae than me : 
He had twa fauts, or may be three, 

Yet what remead ? 
Ae social, honest man want we : 

Tarn Samson's dead ; 



( 92 ) 



THE EPITAPH. 



Tam Samson's weel-worn clay here lies, 
Ye canting zealots, spare him ! 

If honest worth in Heav'n rise, 
Ye '11 mend or ye win near him. 



PER CONTRA. 



Go, fame, an' canter like a filly 

Thro' a' the streets an* neuks o' Killie *, 

Tell ev'ry social, honest billie 

To cease his grievin, 
For yet, unskaith'd by Death's gleg gullie, 

Tam Samson's liv in. 



* Killie is a phrase the country-folks sometimes use for the 
name of a certain town in the West. 



THE following POEM will, by many Readers, be well 
enough understood ; but for the sake of those who are unac- 
quainted with the manners and traditions of the country where 
the scene is cast, Notes are added, to give some account of 
the principal Charms and Spells of that night, so big with pro- 
phecy to the peasantry in the West of Scotland. The passion 
of prying into futurity, makes a striking part of the history 
of human nature in its rude state, in all ages and nations ; 
and it may be some entertainment to a philosophic mind, if 
any such should honour the Author with a perusal, to see 
the remains of it, among the more unenlightened in our own. 



( 94 ) 



HALLOWEEN* 



Yes ! let the rich deride , the proud disdain, 
The simple pleasures of the lowly train : 
To ?ne more dear, congenial to my hearty 
One native charm, than all the gloss of art, 

GOLDSMITH. 



I. 



U PON that night when faries light, 
On Cassilis Downans t dance, 

Or owre the lays in splendid blaze, 
On sprightly coursers prance ; 

Or for Colean the rout is ta'en, 
Beneath the moon's pale beams; 



* Is thought to be a night when Witches, Devils, and other 
mischief-inakin£ beings, are all abroad on their baneful mid- 
nigjjt errands ; particularly those aerial people, the Fairies. 
1,'on that night, to hold a grand anniversary. 

*/ f Certain little, romantic, rocky, green hills, in the neigh- 
bourhood of the ancient seat of the Earls of Cassilis. 



( 95 ) 

There, up the Cove*, to stray an' rove 
Amang the rocks an' streams 

To sport that night. 



II. 

Amang the bonnie, winding banks, 

Were Doon rins wimplin, clear, 
Where Bruce f ance ruiM the martial ranks, 

An' shook his Carrick spear, 
Some merry, friendly, countra folks, 

Together did convene, 
To burn their nits, an" pon their stocks, 

An' haud their Halloween 

Fu' blythe that night. 



III. 

The lasses feat, an' cleanly neat, 

Mair braw than when they're fine : 
Their faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe, 

Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin' : 
The lads sae trig, wi' wooer-babs, 

Weel knotted on their garten, 
Some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs, 

Gar lasses hearts gang startin 

Whiles fast at night. 



* A noted cavern near Colean-house, called the Cove of 
Colean ; which as well as Cassilis Downans, is famed, in 
country story, for being a favourite haunt of Fairies. *^ 

t The famous family of that name, the ancestors of ^Wl 
bert, the great Deliverer of his country, were Earls of Car- . 
rick. 



( 96 ) 



IV. 

Then first and foremost, thro' the kail, 

Their stocks* maun a' be sought ance ; 
They steek their e'en, an' graip an' wale, 

For muckle anes an' straught anes. 
Poor hav'rel Will fell aff the drift, 

An 1 wander'd thro' the bow-kail, 
An' pout, for want o' better shift, 

A runt was like a sow-tail, 

Sae bow't that night 



Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane, 

They roar an' cry a' throu'ther ; 
The vera wee-things, todlin, rin 

Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther; 
An' gif the custoc's sweet or sour , 

Wi' joctelegs they taste them ; 
Syne coziely, aboon the door, 

Wi' cannie care, they've placM them 
To lie that night. 

* The first ceremony of Halloween is, pulling each a stock, 
or plant of kail. Thev must go out, hand in hand, with eyes 
shut, and pull the first they meet with : its being big or little, 
straight or crooked, is prophetic of the size and shape of the 
grand object of all their spells — the husband or wife. If any 
yird) or earth, stick to the root, that is tocher, or fortune ; and 
the taste of the cusfoc, that is, the heart of the stem, is indica- 
tive of the natural temper and disposition. Lastly, the stems, 
#f»to give them their ordinary appellation, the runts, are plac- 
ed somewhere above the head of the door ; and the Christian 
names of the people whom chance brings into the house, are, 
according to the priority of placing the runts, the names in 
question. 



( 97 ) 



VI. 

The lasses staw frae 'mang them a', 

To pou their stalks o' corn f ; 
But Rab slips out, an jinks about, 

Behint the muekle thorn : 
He grippet Nelly hard an fast ; 

Loud skkTd a' the lasses ; 
But her tap-pickle maist was lost, 

When kiutlin in the Fause-house J 
Wi' him that night. 



VII. 

The auld Guidwifes weel-hcordet wits* 
Are round an' round divided, 

An 5 monie lads an' lasses fates 
Are there that night decided : 

Some kindle, couthie, side by side, 



t They go to the barn-yard and pull each, at three several 
times, a stalk of oats. If the third stalk wants the top-picJde y 
that is, the grain at the top of the stalk, the party in question 
will come to the marriage bed anv thino; but a maid. 

J When the corn is in a doubtful state, by being too green, 
or wet, the stack-builder, by means of old timber, Src. makes 
a large apartment in his stack, with an opening in the side 
which is fairest exposed to the w^ind : this he calls a Fause-house. 

* Burning the nuts is a favourite charm. They name the 
lad and lass to each particular nut, as they lay them in the 
fire ; and accordingly as they burn quietly together, or start 
from beside one another, the course and issue of the courtship 
will be. 

I 



( 98 ) 

An' burn thegither trimly ; 
Some start awa, wi' saucy pride, 
And jump out-owre the chimlie 

Fu' high that night. 



VIII. 

Jean slips in twa wi* tentie e'e ; 

Wha 'twas she wadna tell ; 
But this is Jock, an this is me, 

She says in to hersel: 
He bleezM owre her, an' she owre him, 

As they wad never mair part, 
Till fuff! he started up the lum, 

An' Jean had e'en a sair heart 

To see't that night 



IX. 

Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt, 

Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie ; 
A if Mary, nae doubt, took the drunt, 

To be compar'd to Willie : 
Mall's nit lap out wi' pridefu fling, 

An' her ain fit it brunt it; 
While Willie lap, an svvoor by jing, 

'Twa* just the way he wanted 

To be that night 



Nell had the Fause-housc in her min'f 

She pits hersel an' Rob in ; 
In loving bleeze they sweetly join, 

Till white in* ase they're sobbin : 



( 99 ) 

Nell's heart was dancin at the view, 

She whisper d Rob to leuk for't : 
Rob, stownlins, prie'd her bormie mou, 
Fu' cozie in the neuk for't, 

Unseen that night. 



XL 

But Merran sat behint their backs, 

Her thoughts on Andrew Bell ; 
She lea es them gastrin at their cracks, 

And slips out by hersel : 
She thro' the yard the nearest taks, 

An' to the kiln she goes then, 
An darklins graipit for the bauks, 

An' in the blue-clue t throws then, 

Right fear't that night. 



XII. 

An' ay she win't, an' ay she swat, 

I wat she made nae jaukin ; 
Till something held within the pat ; 

Guid L — d! but she was quakin! 
But whether 'twas the deil hirnsel, 

Or whether 'twas a bauk-en', 
Or whether it was Andrew Bell, 

f Whoever would, with success, try this spell, must strictly 
observe these directions : Steal out, all alone, to the kibt % and, 
darkling, throw into the pot, a clue of blue yarn ; wind it in 
a new clue off the old one ; and, towards the latter end, some- 
thing will hold tlft- thread ; demand, who. hands ? i. c. who 
holds; and answer will be returned from the kiln-pot, 
naming the Christian name and surname of vour future 
spouse. 



( ioo ) 

She did na wait on talkin 

To spier that night. 



XIII. 

Wee Jenny to her Grannie says, 

" Will ye go wi' me, Grannie? 
" I'll eat the apple* at the glass, 

" I gat frae uncle Johnie ;' 
She fuft't her pipe wi' sic a lunt, 

In wrath she was sae vap'rin, 
She notic't na, an, aizle brunt 

Her braw new worset apron 

Out thro 7 that night. 



XIV. 

Ye little skelpie-limmer's face ! 
" I daur you try sic sportin, 
As seek the foul thief ony place, 
" For him to spae your fortune : 
Nae doubt but ye may get a sight ! 
" Great cause ye hae to fear it ; 
For monie a ane has gotten a fright, 
u An' liv'd an' di'd deleeret, 

" On sic a night. 



XV. 

Ae Hairst afore the Sherra-muir, 
11 I mind't as weePs yestreen, 



• Take a candle, and go alone to a looking glass ; eat an 
apple before it, and some traditions say, you should comb 



( ioi ) 

" I was a gilpey then, I'm sure 

" I was na past fyfteen : 
" The simmer had been cauld an' wat, 

" An' stuff was unco green; 
u An' ay a rantin kirn we gat, 

u And just on Halloween 

« It fell that night. 



XVL 

Our stibble-rig was Rab M'Graen, 

" A clever, sturdy fallow ; 

His sin gat Eppie Sim wi' wean, 

" That livM in Achmacalla : 

He gat hemp-seed*, I mind it weel, 

" An' he made unco light o't; 

But monie a day was by himsel, 

" He was sae sairly frighted 

" That vera night.*' 



your hair all the time ; the face of your conjugal companion , 
to be, will be seen in the glass, as if peeping over your shoul- 
der. 

* Steal out, tin perceived, and sow a handful of hemp-seed ; 
harrowing it with any thing you can conveniently draw al- 
ter you. Repeat, now and then, ' hemp-seed I saw thee, 
hemp-seed I saw thee ; and him (or her) that is to be my true- 
love, come after me and pou thee.' Look over your left 
shoulder, and you will see the appearance of the person in- 
voked, in the attitude of pulling hemp. Some traditions say, 
6 Come after me, and sbaw thee, 5 that is, shew thyself; in 
which case, it simply appears. Others omit the harrowing. 
and say, ' Come after me, and harrow thee.' 

I 2 



( 102 ) 



XVII. 

Then up gat fechtin Jamie Fleck, 

An' he swoor by his conscience, 
That he could saw hemp-seed a peck ; 

For it was a' but nonsense ; 
The auld guidman raught down the pock, 

An' out a handfu gied him; 
Syne bad him slip frae 'mang the folk, 

Some time when nae ane seed him, 
An' try't that night. 






XVIII. 

He marches thro' amang the stacks, 

Tho' he was something sturtin ; 
The graip he for a harrow taks, 

An' haurls at his curpin : 
An 1 ev'ry now an* then, he says, 

" Hemp-seed I saw thee, 
" An' her that is to be my lass, 

" Come after me, and draw thee 

* As fast this Bight* 



XIX. 

He whistlYi up Lord Lenox' march, 

To keep his courage cheary; 
Altho' his hair begau to arch, 

He was sae fley'd an' eerie : 
Till presently I i a squeak, 

An' tl; ue an' gruntle; 

He by his shouther gae a k 

An' tumbl'd wi' a wintle 

Out-owre that night 



( 103 ) 



XX. 

He roar'd a horrid murder-shout, 

In dreadfu' desperation ! 
An' young an auld came rinnin out, 

An' hear the sad narration : 
He swoor 'twas hilchin Jean M'Craw, 

Or crouchie Merran Humphie, 
Till stop ! she trotted thro' them a' ; 

An' wha was it but Grumphie, 
Asteer that night ! 



XXI. 

Meg fain wad to the bam hae gaen, 

To winn three wechts o' naething;* 
But for to meet the deil her lane* 

She pat but little faith in : 
She gies the herd a pickle nits, 

An' twa red cheekit apples, 
To watch, while for the barn she sets, 

In hopes to see Tarn Kipples 
That vera night. 



* This charm must likewise' be performed, unperceived, 
and alone. You go to the barn, and open both doors, taking 
them off the hinges, if possible ; for there is danger, that the 
being , about to appear, may shut the doors, and do you some 
mischief. Then take that instrument used in winnowing the 
corl\, which, in our country dialect, we call a vcht ; and go 
through all the attitudes of letting down corn against the wind. 
Repeat it tnree times ; and, the third time, an apparition will 
pass through the barn, in at the windy door, and out at the 
Other, having both the figure in question, and the appearance 
or retinue, marking the employment or station in life. 



( 104 ) 



XXTI. 

She turns the key wi' cannie thraw, 

An' owre the threshold ventures; 
But first on Sawnie gies a ca', 

Syne bauldly in she enters : 
A rattan rattl'd up the wa', 

An' she cry'd, L — d preserve her! 
An' ran thro' midden-hole an' a', 

An' pray'd wi' zeal and fervour, 
Fu' fast that night. 



XXIII. 

They hoy't out Will, wi' fair advice ; 

They hecht him some fine braw ane ; 
It chanc'd the stack he faddom't thrice* . 

Was timmer-propt for thrawin; 
He taks a swirlie, auld moss oak, 

For some black, grousome carlin ; 
An 1 loot a winze, an' drew a stroke, 

Till skin in blypes came haurlin 

AiY's nieves that night. 






XXIV. 

A wanton widow Leezie was, 

As canty as a kittlep; 
But. Och ! that night, amang the shav 

She gat a fearfu' settlm! 

* Take an opportunity of going, unnoticed, to a bear stack, 
fathom it three times round. The last fathom of the last time, 
you will your arms the appearance of your future con- 

jugal yoke-fellow. 



( 105 ) 

She thro' the whins, an' by the cairn, 
An' owre the hill gaed scrievin, 

Whare three Lairds' lands met at a barn f 
To dip her left sark-sleeve in, 

Was bent that night, 



XXV. 

Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, 

As thro' the glen it wimpl't; 
Whyles round a rocky scar it strays ; 

Whyles in a wiel it dimpl't ; 
Whyles glitter' d to the nightly rays, 

Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle; 
Whyles cookit underneath the braes, 

Below the spreading hazle, 

Unseen that night, 



XXVL 

Amang the brachens, on the brae, 

Between her an' the moon, 
The deil, or else an outler quey, 

Gat up an' gae a croon : 
Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool: 

Near lav'rock-height she jumpit, 
But mist a fit, an' in the pool 

Out-owre the lugs she plumpit, 

Wi' a plunge that night. 



f You go out, one or more, for this is a social spell, to a 
south running spring or rivulet, where * three Lairds' lands 
meet,' and dip your left shirt sleeve. Go to bed in sight of a 
fire, and hang your wet sleeve before it to dry. Lie awake ; 



( 106 ) 



XXVII. 

In order, on the clean hearth-stane, 

The luggies three* are ranged, 
And every time great care is ta'en, 

To see them duly changed : 
Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys 

Sin Mar y s-year did desire, 
Because he gat the toom-dish thrice, 

He heav'd them on the fire 

In wrath that night. 

XXVIII. 

Wi* merry sangs, an' friendly cracks, 

I wat tliey did na weary ; 
An' unco tales, an' funnie jokes, 

Their sports were cheap an* cheary ; 
Till butter* d So'?is* wi' fragrant lunt, 

Set a' their gabs a-steerin; 
Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt, 

They parted aff carreerin 

Fu' blythe that night. 

and, sometime near midnight, an apparition, having the ex- 
act figure of the grand object in question, will come and turn 
the sleeve, as if to dry the other side of it. 

* Take three dishes; put clean water in one, foul water in 
another, leave the third empty; blindfold a person, and lead 
him to the hearth where the dishes are ranged ; he (or she) 
dips the left hand: if by chance in the clean water, the future 
husband or wife will come to the bar of matrimony a maid ; 
if in the foul, a widow ; if in the empty dish, it foretells, with 
equal certainty, no marriage at all. It ^s repeated three times ; 
and every time the arrangement of the dishes is altered. 

• Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is always 
the Halloween sup- 



( 107 ) 



THE 

AULD FARMER'S 
NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION 

TO HIS 

AULD MARE, MAGGIE, 

On giving her the accustomed Ripp of Corn to hansel 
in the New Year. 



J\ Guide New-year I wish thee, Maggie ! 
Hae there's a ripp to thy auld baggie: 
Tho* thou s howe-backit, now, an' knaggie, 

I've seen the day, 
Thou could hae gaen like onie staggie 

Out-owre the lay. 

Tho 1 now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy, 
An' thy auld hide as white's a daisy, 
I've seen thee dappl't, sleek, and glazie, 

A bonnie gray : 
He shou'd been tight that daur't to raize thee, 

Ance in a day. 

Thou ance was i* the foremost rank, 
A filly buirdly, steeve, an swank, 
An' set weel down a shapely shank, 
As e'er tread yird ; 



( 108 ) 

An' cou'd hae flown out-owre a stank, 
Like ony bird. 

It's now some nine-an'-twenty year, 
Since thou was my guid-father's meere ; 
He gied me thee, o' tocher clear, 

An' fifty mark ; 
Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel won gear, 

An' thou was stark. 

When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, 
Ye then was trottin wi' your minnie: 
Tho' ye was trickie, slee, an' funnie, 

Ye ne'er was donsie ; 
But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie, 

An 1 unco sonsie. 

That day, ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride, 
When ye bure hame my bonnie bride : 
An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride, 

Wi' maiden air ! 
Kyle Stewart I could bragged wide, 

For sic a pair. 

Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hoble, 
An' wintle like a saumont-coble, 
That day ye was a j inker noble, 
1 For heels an' win' ! 

An' ran them till they a* did wauble, 
Far, far, behin'. 

When thou an' I were young an' skiegh, 

An' stable-meals at fairs were driegh, 

How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skriegh, 

i! tak the road ! 
Town s bodies ran an' stood abiegh, 

An ca't thee mad. 



( 109 ) 

When thou was corn't, an I was mellow, 
We took the road ay like a swallow : 
At brooses thou had ne'er a fellow, 

For pith an speed ; 
But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow, 

Whare'er thou gaed. 

The sma', droop-rumpl't, hunter cattle, 
Might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle ; 
But sax Scotch miles thou try't their mettle, 

An gar't them whaizle : 
Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle 

O' saugh or hazle. 

Thou was a noble Fittic-lan\ 
As e'er in tug or tow was drawn ! 
Aft thee an I in aught hours gaun, 

On guid March-weather, 
Hae turn d sax rood beside our han', 

For days thegither. 

Thou never braindg't, an' fetch't an fliskit, 
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit, 
An' spread abreed thy weel-fill'd brisket, 

W\ pith an pow'r, 
Till sprittie knowes wad rair't and risket, 

An* slypet owre. 

When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep, 
An threaten d labor back to keep, 
I gied thy cog a wee-bit heap 

A boon the timmer ; 
I ken'd my Magge wad na sleep 

For that, or simmer. 

In cart or car thou never reestit; 
The steyest brae thou wad hae fac't it ; 

K 



( no ) 

Thou never lap, an' sten't, an' breastit, 
Then stood to blaw; 

But just thy step a wee thing hastit, 
Thou snoov't awa. 

My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a' ; 
Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw; 
Forbye sax mae, I've sell't awa, 

That thou hast nurst : 
They drew me thretteen pund an' twa, 

The vera warst. 

Monie a sair daurg we twa hae wrought, 
An' wi' the weary warl' fought ! 
An' monie an anxious day, I thought 

We wad be beat ! 
Yet here to crazy age we're brought, 

Wi* something yet. 

An' think na, my auld, trusty servan', 
That now, perhaps thou's less deservin, 
An' thy auld days may end in starvin, 

For my last fou\ 
A heapit st impart, I'll reserve ane 

Laid by for you. 

We've worn to crazy years thegither ; 
We'll toyte about wi' ane anither; 
Wi* tentie care I'll flit thy tether, 

To some hain'd rig, 
Whare ye may nobly rax your leather, 

Wi 1 sma* fatigue. 



( 111 ) 



TO A 



M O U S E, 

On turning up her Nest, with the Plough, 
November 1785. 



W EE, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie, 
O, what a panic's.in thy breastie! 
Thou need na start awa sae hasty, 

Wi' bickering brattle ! 
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, 

Wi' murd'ring pattle I 

Fm truly sorry man's dominion 
Has broken Nature's social union, 
An' justifies that ill opinion, 

Which makes thee startle 
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, 
An' fellow mortal ! 

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve ; 
What then ! poor beastie, thou maun live ! 
A daime?i-icker in a thrave 

7 S a sma' request : 
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave, 

And never miss't ! 



( 112 ) 

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! 
Its silly was the win's are strewin I 
An ; naething, now, to big a new ane, 

Cf fog gage green ! 
An' bleak December's winds ensuin, 

Baith sneli and keen ! 

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, 
An' weary winter comin fast, 
An* cozie here, beneath the blast, 

Thou thought to dwell, 
Till crash ! the cruel coulter past 

Out thro* thy cell. 

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, 
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! 
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, 

But house or bald, 
To thole the winter's sleety dribble, . 

An' cranreuch cauld ! 

But, mousie, thou art no thy lane, 
In proving foresight may be vain: 
The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men y 

Gang aft a-giev, 
An* lea'e us nought but grief and pain, 

For promised joy. 

Still thou art blest, compared wi' me ! 
The present only toucheth thee : 
But, Och ! I backward cast my e'e, 

On prospects drear! 
An forward, tho' I canna see, 

I guess an' fear ! 



( U3 ) 



WINTER NIGHT. 



Poor naked wretches, wheresoever you are, 
That bide the pelting of this pity less storm ! 
How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, 
Your looped and window* d raggedness, defend you 9 
From seasons such as these. ■ 

SHAKESPEARE. 



W HEN biting Boreas, fell and doure, 
Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r; 
When Phoebus gies a short-liv'd glow'r, 

Far south the lift, 
Dim-dark'ning thro' the flaky show'r, 

Or whirling drift, 

Ae night the storm the steeples rocked, 
Poor labour sweet in sleep was locked, 
While burns, wi' snawy wreeths up-choked, 

Wild-eddying swirl, 
Or thro* the mining outlet bocked, 

Down headlong hurl 
K 2 



( 114 ) 

Listening, the doors an' winnocks rattle, 
1 thought me on the ourie cattle, 
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle, 

O' winter war, 
And thro' the drift, deep-lairing sprattle, 

Beneath a scar. 

Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing ! 
That, in the merry months o' Spring, 
Delighted me to hear thee sing, 

What comes o' thee ! 
Whare wilt thou cow'r thy chittering wing. 

An close thy e'e ? 

Ev'n 30U on murd'ring errands toil'd, 

Lone from your savage homes exil'd, 

The blood-stahvd roosts, and sheep-cote spoil'd, 

My heart forgets, 
While pitiless the tempest wild 

Sore on you beats. 

Now r Phoebe, in her midnight reign, 
Dark muffl'd view'd the dreary plain; 
Still crouding thoughts, a pensive train, 

Rose in my soul, 
When on my ear this plaintive strain, 

Slow solemn, stole — 

" Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust ! 
" And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost ! 
" Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows ! 
" Not all your rage, as now united shows 

" More hard unkindness, unrelenting, 

" Vengeful malice, unrepentin^ 
" Thanheav'n-illummd Man on brother Man bestows! 

" See stern 0\>\ fs iron grip, 

" Or mad Ambition's gory hand, 
u Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip, 



( 115 ) 

" Woe, want, and murder, o'er a land! 
" Ev'n in the peaceful rural vale, 
" Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale, 
How pamper'd Luxury, Flatt'ry by her side, 
" The parasite empoisoning her ear, 
" With all the servile wretches in the rear, 
Looks o'er proud Property, extended wide ; 
" And eyes the simple rustic Hind, 

" Whose toil upholds the glitt'ring show, 
" A creature of another kind, 
u Some coarser substance, unrefin'd, 
Plac'd for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, below ! 
" Where, where is Love's fond, tender throe, 
" With Lordly Honor's lofty brow, 

" The pow'rs you proudly own ? 
" Is there, beneath Love's noble name, 
M Can harbour, dark, the selfish aim, 

" To bless himself alone ! 
(C Mark Maiden-innocence a prey 

'* To love-pretending snares, 
" This boasted Honor turns away, 
" Shunning soft Pity's rising sway, 
Regardless of the tears, and unavailing pray 'rs! 
" Perhaps, this hour, in Mis'ry's squalid nest, 
" She strains your infant to her joyless breast, 
And with a Mother's fears, shrinks at the rocking 

blast : 
Oh ye! who, sunk in beds of down, 
" Feel not a want but what yourselves create, 
" Think, for a moment, on his wretched fate, 
" Whom friends and Fortune quite disown ! 
Ill-satisfy'd, keen Nature's clam'rous call, 
" Stretch'd on his straw he lays himself to sleep, 
While thro' the ragged roof and chinky wall, 
" Chill, o'er his slumbers, piles the drifty heap ! 
" Think on the dungeon's grim confine, 
" Where Guilt and poor Misfortune pine ! 



( 11<5 ) 

* Guilt, erring Man, relenting view ! 
" But shall thy legal rage pursue 

" The wretch, already crushed low, 
u Bv cruel Fortune's undeserved blow? 

* Afflictions sons are brothers in distress! 

" A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss V 
I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer 

Shook off the pouthery snaw, 
And hail'd the morning with a cheer, 

A cottage-rousing craw. 

But deep this truth impressed my mind — 

Thro' ail his works abroad, 
The heart benevolent and kind 

The most resembles God. 



EPISTLE 

TO 

DAVIE, 

▲ 

BROTHER POET. 



January- 



I. 

W HILE winds frae aff Ben-Lomond blaw, 
And bar the doors wi' driving snaw, 

And hing us owre the ingle, 
I set me down, to pass the time, 
And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme, 

In haniely westlin jingle. 



(117 ) 

While frosty winds blaw in the drift, 

Ben to the chimla lug, 
I grudge a wee the great folks' gift, 
That live sae bien an' snug : 
I tent less, and want less 
Their roomy fire-side ; 
But hanker and canker, 
To see their cursed pride. 



IL 



It's hardly in a body's pow'r, 

To keep, at times, frae being sour, 

To see how things are shar'd ; 
How best o' chiels are whiles in want, 
While coofs on countless thousands rant, 

And ken na how to wair't : 
But Davie, lad, ne'er fash your head, 

Tho' we hae little gear, 
We're fit to win our daily bread, 
As lang's we're hale and tier : 
" Mail spear na, no fear na," * 

Auld age ne'er mind a feg, 
The last o't, the waist o't, 
Is only but to beg. 



III. 

To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, 

When banes are craz'd, and bluid is thin,. 

Is, doubt; at distress ! 

Yet then content could make us blest; 
Ev'n then, sometimes we'd snatch a taste 

Of truest happiness. 



* Ramsay. 



( 113 ) 

The honest heart that's free frae a' 

Intended fraud or guile, 
However Fortune kick the ba', 
Has ay some cause to smile, 

And mind still, you'll find still, 

A comfort this nae sma'; 
Nae mair then, we'll care then, 
Nae farther can we fa\ 



IV. 

What tho', like commoners of air, 
We wander out we know not where, 

But either house or hal' ! 
Yet Nature's charms, the hills and w T oods, 
The sweeping vales, and foaming floods, 

Are free alike to all. 
In days when daisies deck the ground, 

And blackbirds whistle clear, 
With honest joy our hearts will bound, 
To see the coming year: 

On braes when we please, then, 

We'll sit and sowth a tune; 
Syne rhyme till't, we'll time till't, 
And sing't when we hae done. 



V. 

It's no in titles nor m rank ; 

It's no in wealth like Lon'on Bank, 

To purchase peace and rest ; 
It's no in makin nmckle mah ; 
It's no in books; it's no in lear, 

To make us truly blest: 
If Happim n hae not her seat 

And centre in the breast, 



(( 119 )) 

We may be wise, or rich, or great, 
But never can be blest : 

Nae treasures, nor pleasures, 

Could make us happy lang ; 
The heart ay's the part ay, 
That makes us right or wrang. 



VI. 

Think ye, that sic as you and I, 

Wha drudge and drive thro' wet an' dry, 

Wi' never-ceasing toil ; 
Think ye, are we less blest than they, 
Wha scarcely tent us in their way, 

As hardly worth their while ? 
Alas ! how aft in haughty mood, 

God's creatures they oppress! 
Or else, neglecting a' that's guid, 
They riot in excess! 

Baith careless, and fearless, 
Of either heav'n or hell ! 
Esteeming, and deeming 
It's a' an idle tale ! 



VII. 

Then let us chearfu' acquiesce ; 
Nor make our scanty pleasures less, 

By pining at our state; 
And, even should misfortunes come, 
I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some 

An's thankfu' for them yet. 
They gie the wit of age to youth ; 

They let us ken oursel ; 
They make us see the naked truth, 

The real guid and ill. 



( 120 ) 

Tho' losses and crosses, 
Be lessons right severe, 

There's wit there, yell get there, 
Ye' 11 lind nae other where. 



VIII. 

But tent me, Davfp, Ace o' Hearts ! 
(To say aught less wad wrang the cartes, 

And flatt'ry I detest,) 
This life has joys for you and I; 
And joys that riches ne'er could buy; 

And joys the very best. 
There's a* the Pleasures o y the Heart, 

The lover an' the frien' ; 
Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part, 
And I my darling Jean ! 
It warms me, it charms me, 

To mention but her name ; 
It heats me, it beets me, 
And sets me a' on flame ! 



IX. 

O, all ye Powers who rule above ! 
O, Thou, whose very self art love ! 

Thou kuow'st my words sincere! 
The iife-biood streaming thro' \\y heart, 
Or my more dear immortal part, 

Is not more fondly dear! 
When heart-corroding care and grief 

Depriv >t, 

Her dear id< a brings relief 

And solace to c st. 

Thou Being, Ail-seeing, 



( 121 ) 

O hear my fervent pray'r ; 
Still take her, and make her 
Thy most peculiar care! 

X. 

All hail, ye tender feelings dear! 
The smile of love, the friendly tear. 

The sympathetic glow; 
Long since, this world's thorny ways 
Had numbered out my weary days, 

Had it not been for you ! 
Fate still has blest me with a friend, 

In every care and ill; 
And oft a more endearing band, 
A tie more tender still. 
It lightens, it brightens, 

The tenehrific scene, 
To meet with, and greet with 
My Davie or my Jean. 

XL 

O how that name inspires my style ! 
The words come skelpin, rank and file, 

Amaist before I ken ! 
The ready measure rins as fine, 
As Phoebus and the famous Nine 

Were glowrin owre my pen. 
My spaviet Pegasus will limp, 

Till ance he's fairly het; 
And then he'll hilch, and stilt, and jimp, 
And rin an unco fit; 

But lest then, the beast then, 
Should rue this hasty ride, 
I'll light now, and dight now 
His sweaty, wizen' d hide. 
L 



( 122 ) 



THE 

LAMENT. 

OCCASIONED BY THE 

UNFORTUNATE ISSUE 

OF A 

FRIEND'S AMOUR. 



Alas ! hoxv oft does Goodness wound itself! 
And sweet Affection prove the Spring of Woe. 

HOME. 



O THOU pale Orb, that silent shines, 

While care-untroubled mortals sleep! 
Thou seest a wretch that inly pin< 

And wanders here to wail and weep ! 
With woe I nightly vigils keep, 

Beneath thy wan, unwarming beam; 
And mourn, in lamentation deep, 

How Vfe and love are all a dream. 



( 123 ) 
II. 

I joyless view thy rays adorn 

The faintly-marked, distant hill : 
I joyless view thy trembling horn, 

Reflected in the gurgling rill : 
My fondly-fluttering heart, be still ! 

Thou busy pow'r, Remembrance, cease ! 
Ah ! must the agonizing thrill 

For ever bar returning Peace ! 

III. 

No idly-feign'd poetic pains, 

My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim ; 
No shepherd's pipe — Arcadian strains ; 

No fabled tortures, quaint and tame : 
The plighted faith ; the mutual flame ; 

The oft attested Pow'rs above ; 
The promised fathers tender name ; 

These were the pledges of my love : 

IV. 

Encircled in her clasping arms, 

How have the raptur'd moments flown ; 
How have I wish'd for Fortune's charms, 

For her dear sake, and her's alone ! 
And must I think it ! is she gone, 

My secret heart's exulting boast ? 
And does she heedless hear my groan ? 

And is she ever, ever lost ? 

V. 

Oh ! can she bear so base a heart, 
So lost to honour, lost to truth, 
As from the fondest lover part, 



( 124 ) 



The plighted husband of her youth ? 
Alas ! Life's path may be unsmooth ! 

Her way may lie thro' rough distress! 
Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe, 

Her sorrows share, and make them less? 



VI. 

Ye winged hours that o'er us past, 

Enraptured more, the more enjoy'd, 
Your dear remembrance in my breast, 

My tondiy-treasur'd thoughts employed. 
That breast, how dreary now, and void, 

For her too scanty once of room ! 
Ev'n ev'ry ray of hope destroyed, 

And not a wish to gild the gloom ! 



VII. 

The morn that warns th' approaching day, 

Awakes me up to toil and. woe : 
I see the hours in long array, 

That I must sutler, lingering, slow, 
Full many a pang, and many a throe, 

Keen recollection's direful train, 
Must wring my soul, e'er Phoebus, low, 

Shall kiss the distant, w r estern main. 



VIII. 

And when my nightly couch I try, 

\1 out with care and grief, 
M? toil-beat nerv< s and tear-worn i 
Keep watchings with the nightly thief: 



( 125 ) 

Or if I slumber, Fancy, chief, 

Reigns haggard-wild, in sore affright 

Ev'n day, all-bitter, brings relief, 
From such a horror-breathing night. 



IX. 



O ! thou bright Queen, who o'er th' expanse, 

Now highest reign'st, with boundless sway ! 
Oft has thy silent-marking glance 

Observ'd us, fondly-wand'ring, stray ! 
The time, unheeded, sped away, 

While Love's luxurious pulse beat high, 
Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray, 

To mark the mutual-kindling eye. 



X, 



Oh ! scenes in strong remembrance set ; 

Scenes never, never to return ! 
Scenes, if in stupor I forget, 

Again I feel, again I burn ! 
From ev'ry joy and pleasure torn, 

Life's weary vale I'll wander thro' ; 
And hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourn 

A faithless woman's broken vow. 



L 2 



( 126 ) 



DESPONDENCY. 



AN 



ODE. 






vJPPRESS'D with grief, oppressed with care, 
A burden more than I can bear, 

I set me down and sigh ; 
O Life ! thou art a galling load, 
Along a rough, a weary road, 

To wretches, such as I 1 
Dim-backward as I cast my view, 
What Bick'ning scenes appear! 
What-sorrows yet may pierce me thro', 
Too justly I may fear! 
Still caring, despairing, 

Must be my bitter doom ; 
My woes here shall close ne'er; 
But with the closing tomb ! 



II. 

Happy, ye sons of busy-life, 
Who, equal to the bustling strife. 



( 127 ) 

No other view regard ! 
Ev'n when the wished eiid's deny'd, 
Yet while the busy means are ply'd, 

They bring their own reward : 
Whilst I, a hope-abandon' d wight, 

Unfitted with an aim, 
Meet ev'ry sad returning night, 
And joyless mourn the same, 
You bustling, and justling, 

Forget each grief and pain ; 
I listless, yet restless, 
Find ev'ry prospect vain. 



IIL 

How blest the solitary's lot, 
Who, all-forgetting, all-forgot, 

Within his humble cell, 
The cavern wild with tangling roots, 
Sits o'er his newly-gather'd fruits, 

Beside his crystal well I 
Or haply, to his ev'ning thought, 

By unfrequented stream, 
The ways of men are distant brought, 
A faint-collected dream : 
While praising, and raising 

His thoughts to Heav'n on high, 
As wand' ring, meand'ring, 
He views the solemn sky. 



IV. 

Than I, no lonely hermit plac'd 
Where never human footstep trac'd, 

Less fit to play the part ; 
The lucky moment to improve, 



( 128 ) 

And just to stop, and just to move, 

With self-respecting art : 
But ah ! those pleasures, loves, and joys, 

Which I too keenly taste, 
The solitary, can despise, 
Can want, and yet be blest ! 
He needs not, he heeds not, 

Or human love or hate, 
Whilst I here must cry here, 
At perfidy ingrate ! 



V. 



Oh ! enviable, early days, 

When dancing thoughtless pleasure's maze, 

To care, to guilt unknown ! 
How ill exchang'd for riper times, 
To feel the follies, or the crimes, 

Of others, or my own! 
Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, 

Like linnets in the bush, 
Ye little know the ilis ye court, 
When manhood is your wish! 
The losses, the crosses, 

That active man engage I 
The fears all, the tears all, 
Of dim-declining age ! 



( 129 ) 
WINTER: 

A DIRGE. 



L 



JL HE wintry west extends his blast, 

And hail and rain does blaw ; 
Or, the stormy north sends driving forth 

The blinding sleet and snaw ; 
While tumbling brown, the burn comes down, 

And roars frae bank to brae ; 
And bird and beast in covert rest, 

And pass the heartless day. 



IT. 



# » 



" The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast*, 

The joyless winter-day, 
Let others fear, — to me more dear 

Than all the pride of May : 
The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, 

My griefs it seems to join ; 
The leafless trees my fancy please, 

Their fate resembles mine t 



Dr. Younor. 



( 130 ) 
III. 

Thou Pow'r supreme, whose mighty scheme 

These woes of mine fulfil, 
Here, firm, I rest, they must be best, 

Because they are thy will ! 
Then all I want— (O, do thou grant 

This one request of mine I) 
Since to enjoy thou dost deny, 

Assist me to resign. 



THE 

C O T T E R' S 
SATURDAY NIGHT. 

INSCRIBED TO R. A****, ESQ. 



Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joy a, and destiny obscure ; 

Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 
The short but simple annals of the poor. 

GRAY. 



I. 

JYlY lov 1 d, my honour'd, much respected friend ! 

No mercenary bard his homage pays; 
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end, 

My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise : 



( 131 ) 

To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, 

The lowly train in life's sequester' d scene ; 

The native feelings strong, the guileless ways ; 
What A**** in a cottage would have been ; 

Ah ! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween 1 



II. 

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh ; 

The shortening w r inter-day is near a close ; 
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh ; 

The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose : 
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes, 

This night his w T eekly moil, is at an end, 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, 

Hoping the mom in ease and rest to spend, 
And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward 
bend. 



III. 

At length his lonely cot appears in view, 

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; 
Th' expectant wee-things, todiin, stacher through 

To meet their dad, wi' flichterin noise an* glee. 
His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnily, 

His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wjfies smile, 
The lisping infant prattling on his knee, 

Does a' his weary carking cares beguile, 
An makes him quite forget his labor an' his toil. 



IV. 

Belyve the elder bairns come drapping in, 
At service out amang the farmers roun' ; 



( 132 ) 

Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin 

A cannie errand to a neebor town : 
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, 

In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e, 
Comes hame, perhaps to shew a braw new gown 

Or deposite her sair-won penny fee, 
To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. 

V. 

Wi* joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet, 

An' each for other's weelfare kindly speirs : 
The social hours, swift-wing' d unnotic'd fleet ; 

Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears; 
The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years; 

Anticipation forward points the view. 
The mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers, 

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new ; 
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 

VI. 

Their master's an' their mistress's command, 

The yoimkers a' are warned to obey ; 
An' mind their labours wi' an eydent hand, 

An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play ; 
" An' O! be sure to fear the Lord alway ! 

" An' mind your duty, duly, morn an night! 
" Lest in temptation's paths \ astray, 

U Implore his counsel an<i might; 

" They never sought in vain, that sought the Lord 



aright." 



VII. 



But hark! a rap comes gently to the door; 
Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, 






( 133 ) 

Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor, 
To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 

The wily mother sees the conscious flame 
Sparkle in Jennys e'e, and flush her cheek ; 

With heart-struck anxious care, inquires his name, 
While Jenny hafflms is afraid to speak; 

Weel pleas' d the mother hears, it's nae wild, worthless 
rake. 



^\ i' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben ; 

A strappan youth: he takes the mother's eye; 
Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en; 

The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. 
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, 

But blate and laithfu', scarce can weel behave ; 
The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 

What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae grave ; 
Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the 
lave. 



IX. 

O happy love ! where love like this is found ! 

O heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond compare! 
I've paced much this weary, mortal round, 

And sage Experience bids me this declare — 
" If Heav'n a draught of heav'nly pleasure spare, 

" One cordial in this melancholy vale, 
" 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, 

u In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, 
" Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening 
" gale." 

M 



( 134 ) 



X. 

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart — 

A wretch ! a villain ! lost to love and truth ! 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, 

Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth ? 
Curse on his perjur'd arts! dissembling smooth! 

Are honour, virtue, conscience, ailexird? 
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth, 

Points to the parents fondling o'er their child ? 
Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction 
wild! 

XL 

But now r the supper crowns their simple board, 

The healsome parritch, chief o' Scotia's food : 
The soupe their only Hawkie does afford, 

That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood ; 
The dame brings forth in complimental mood, 

To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, fell, 
An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid ; 

The frugal wiiie, garrulous, will tell, 
How 'tw r as a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the bell. 

XII. 

The cheerfu' supper done, wf serious face, 

They round the ingle, form a circle w r ide; 
The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, 

The big ha'-Bib/e, ance his father's pride: 
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, 

His hart ballots wearing thin an' bare; 
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, 

He wales a portion with judicious care; 
And " Let us worship God!" he says, with solemn air. 



( 135 ) 



XIII. 

They chant their artless notes in simple guise : 

They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim ; 
Perhaps Dundee's wild warbling measures rise, 

Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name ; 
Or noble Elgin beets the heav'n-ward flame, 

The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : 
Compared with these, Italian trills are tame ; 

The tickl'd ears no heart-felt raptures raise ; 
Nae unison hae they w T ith our Creator's praise. 



XIV. 

The priest-like father reads the sacred page, 

How Abram was the Friend of God on high ; 
Or, Moses bad eternal warfare wage 

With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; 
Or how the royal Bard did groaning lye 

Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire ; 
Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry ; 

Or rapt IsaiaVs wild, seraphic fire; 
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. 



XV. 

Perhaps the Christian Volume is the theme, 
How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed ; 

How He, who bore in Heav'n the second name, 
Had not on earth whereon to lay his head : 

How His first followers and servants sped ; 
The precepts sage they wrote to many a land : 

How he, who lone in Patmos banished, 



( 136 ) 

Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand ; 
And heard great BaVloifs doom pronounc'd by 
HeavVs command. 



XVI. 

Thfii kneeling down to Heaven's Eternal King, 

The saint, the father, and the husband prays: 
Hope " springs exulting on triumphant wing*," 

That thus they all shall meet in future days : 
There, ever bask in uncreated rays, 

No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, 
Together hymning their Creator's praise, 

In such society, yet still more dear ; 
While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. 



XVII. 

Compar'd with this how poor Religion's pride. 

In all the pomp of method and of art, 
When men display to congregations wide, 

Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart ! 
The Poic'r, incens'd, the pageant will desert, 

The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole; 
But hapiy in some cottage far apart, 

May luar, well-pleas'd, the language of the soul ; 
And in his Book of Life the inmates poor enroll. 



XVIII. 



Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way ; 
The youngling cottagers retire to rest : 

* Pope's Windsor Forest. 



i 



( 137 ) 

The parent-pair their secret homage pay, 

And proffer up to Heav'n the warm request, 

That He who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, 
And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, 

Would in the way His wisdom sees the best, 
For them and for their little ones provide ; 
But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside. 

XIX. 

From scenes like these, old Scotia's grandeur springs. 

That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad : 
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 

" An honest mans the noblest work of God : ' 
And certes, in fair virtue's heav'nly road, 

The cottage leaves the palace far behind ; 
What is a lordling's pomp ! a cumbrous load, 

Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, 
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin'd ! 

XX. 

O Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! 

For whom my warmest wish to Heav'n is sent ! 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil, 

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet con- 
tent ! 
And, O! may Heav'n, their simple lives prevent 

From luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! 
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, 
A virtuous populace may rise the while, 
And stand a wall of lire around their much-lord isle. 

XXI. 

O Thou ! who pour d the patriotic tide 

That stream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted heart ; 
M 9 



( 138 ) 

Who dar'd to, nobly, stem tyrannic pride, 
Or nobly die, the second glorious part, 
(The patriot's God, peculiarly thou art, 

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!) 
O never, never, Scotia's realm desert : 
But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard, 
In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard ! 

* * 



MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN : 



A DIRGE. 



I. 



WHEN chill November's surly blast 

Made fields and forests bare, 
One ev'ning, as I wand' red forth 

Along the banks of Ayr, 
I spy'd a man, whose aged step 

Seem'd weary, worn with care; 
His face was furrowM o'er with years, 

And hoary was his hair. 



II. 



Young stranger, whither wand' rest thou ! 
(Began the rev' rend sage ;) 






( 139 ) 

Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, 
Or youthful pleasure's rage? 

Or haply, prest with cares and woes, 
Too soon thou hast began, 

To wander forth, with me, to mourn 
The miseries of man. 



III. 

The sun that overhangs yon moors, 

Out-spreading far and wide, 
Where hundreds labour to support 

A haughty lordling's pride ; 
I've seen yon weary winter-sun 

Twice forty times return ; 
And ev'ry time has added proofs, 

That man was made to mourn. 



IV. 

O man ! while in thy early years, 

How prodigal of time ! 
Mispending all thy precious hours, 

Thy glorious youthful prime ? 
Alternate follies take the sway : 

Licentious passions burn ; 
Which tenfold force gives nature's law, 

That man was made to mourn. 



V. 

Look not alone on youthful prime, 
Or manhood's active might : 

Man then is useful to his kind, 
Supported is his right. 



( 140 ) 

But see him on the edge of life, 

With cares and sorrows worn, 
Then age and want, Oh ! ill-matchM pair ! 

Show man was made to mourn. 



VL 

A few seem favourites of fate, 

In pleasure's lap carest; 
Yet, think not all the rich and great 

Are likewise truly blest. 
But, Oh ! what crowds in ev'ry land, 

Are wretched and forlorn. 
Thro' weary life this lesson learn, 

That man was made to mourn. 



VII. 

Many and sharp the num'rous ills 

Inwoven with our frame ! 
More pointed still we make ourselves, 

Regret, remorse, and shame ! 
And man, whose heav'n-erected face, 

The smiles of love adorn, 
Man's inhumanity to man, 

Makes countless thousands mourn ! 



VIII. 

See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight, 
So abject, mean, and vile, 

Who begs a brother of the earth 
To give him leave to toil ; 

And see his lordly fcl/ow worm 
The poor petition spurn, 



( 141 ) 

Unmindful, tho' a weeping wife, 
And helpless offspring mourn. 



IX. 

If Fm design'd yon lordling's slave, 

By Nature's law design'd, 
Why was an independent wish 

E'er planted in my mind ? 
If not, why am I subject to 

His cruelty, or scorn ? 
Or why has man the will and pow'r 

To make his fellow mourn ? 



X. 



Yet, let not this too much, my son, 

Disturb thy youthful breast : 
This partial view of human-kind 

Is surely not the last ! 
The poor, oppressed, honest man, 

Had never, sure, been born, 
Had there not been some recompencc 

To comfort those that mourn ! 



XL 

O Death ! the poor man's dearest friend, 

The kindest and the best ! 
Welcome the hour my aged limbs 

Are laid with thee at rest ! 
The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, 

From pomp and pleasure torn ; 
But, Oh ! a blest relief to those 

That weary-laden mourn ! 



( 142 ) 



A PRAYER 



IN THE 



PROSPECT OF DEATH. 



I. 



yj THOU unknown, Almighty Cause 

Of ail my hope and fear! 
In whose dread presence, ere an hour, 

Perhaps I must appear ! 



II. 

If I have wander'd in those paths 
Of life I ought to shun ; 

As something, loudly, in my breast, 
Remonstrates I have done ; 



III. 

Thou know\st that thou hast formed me 
With passions wild and strong; 

And list'ning to their witching voice, 
Has often led me wrong. 




( 143 > 



IV. 



Where human weakness has come short, 

Or frailty stept aside, 
Do thou, All-Good ! for such thou art, 

In shades of darkness hide. 



Where with intention I have err'd, 

No other plea I have, 
But, thou art good; and goodness still 

Delighteth to forgive. 



STANZAS 



ON THE 



SAME OCCASION. 



VV H Y am I loth to leave this earthly scene ! 

Have I so found it full of pleasing charms? 
Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between : 

Some gleams of sunshine mid renewing storms: 
Is it departing pangs my soul alarms? 



( 144 ) 

Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode P 
For ^uilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms; 

1 tremble to approach an angry God, 
And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod. 



Fain would T say, " Forgive my foul offence?" 

Fain promise never more to disobey; 
But, should my Author health again dispense, 

Again I might desert fair virtue's way; 
Again in folly's path might go astray; 

Again exalt the brute, and sink the man; 
Then how should I for heav'nly mercy pray, 

Who act so counter heav'nly mercy's plan? 
Who sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation ran 



O thou Great Governor of all below ! 

If I may dare a lifted eye to thee, 
Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow, 

Or still the tumult of the raging sea: 
With that controuling pow'r assist ev'n me, 

Those headlong, furious passions to confine: 
For all unlit I feel my powers to be, 

To rule their torrent in th' allowed line: 
O, aid me with thy help, Omnipotence Divine ! 



? 



( 145 ) 



Lying at a Reverend Friend's house one night, the Author 
left the following Verses wi the room where he slept. 



O THOU dread PowV, who reign'st above! 

I know thou wilt rne hear : 
'When for t]}is scene of peace and love, 

I make my prav'r sincere. 



II. 



The hoary sire — the mortal stroke, 
Long, long, be pleas'd to spare; 

To bless his little filial flock, 
And show what crood men are. 



III. 

She, who her lovely offspring eyes 
With tender hopes and fears, 

O bless her with a mother's joys, 
But spare a mother's tears! 

N 



( 146 ) 



IV. 



Their hope, their stay, their darling youth, 

In manhood's dawning blush; 
Bless him, thou God of love and truth, 

Up to a parent's wish. 



The beauteous, seraph sister-band, 

With earnest tears I pray, 
Thou know'st the snares on ev'ry hand, 

Guide thou their steps alway. 



VI. 

When soon or late they reach that coast, 
O'er life's rough ocean driven, 

May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost, 
A family in heav'n. 



( 147 ) 



THE 



FIRST PSALM. 



JL HE man in life where-ever plac'd, 
Hath happiness in store, 
Who walks not in the wicked's way, 
Nor learns their guilty lore ! 

Nor from the seat of scornful pride 
Casts forth his eyes abroad, 

But with humility and awe 
Still w T alks before his God. 

That man shall flourish like the trees 
Which by the streamlets grow ; 

The fruitful top is spread on high, 
And firm the root below. 

But he whose blossom buds in guilt, 
Shall to the ground be cast, 

And like the rootless stubble tost, 
Before the sweeping blast. 

For why ? that God the good adore 
Hath giv'n them peace and rest, 

But hath decreed that wicked men 
Shall ne'er be truly blest 



( 148 ) 



PRAYER 

Under the Pressure of Violent Anguish. 



O THOU great Being ! what Thou art 

Surpasses me to know : 
Yet sure I am, that known to Thee 

Are all Thy works below. 



Thy creature here before Thee stands, 
All wretched and distrest; 

Yet sure those ills that wring my soul 
Obey Thy high behest. 



Sure Thou, Almighty, canst not act 

From cruelty or wrath ! 
O, free my weary eyes from tears, 

Or close them fast in death ! 



But if I must afflicted be, 
To suit some wise design ; 

Then, man my soul with firm resolves 
To bear and not repine ! 






( 149 ) 



THE 

FIRST SIX VERSES 

OF THE 

NINETIETH PSALM. 



O THOU, the first, the greatest friend 

Of all the human race ! 
Whose strong right-hand has ever been 

Their stay and dwelling-place ! 

Before the mountains heav'd their heads 

Beneath Thy forming hand, 
Before this pond'rous globe itself, 

Arose at thy command ; 

That Pow'r which rais'd and still upholds 

This universal frame, 
From countless, unbeginning time, 

Was ever still the same. 

Those mighty periods of years 

Which seem to us so vast, 
Appear no more before Thy sight 

Than yesterday that's past. 
N 2 



( 150 ) 

Thou giv'st the word : Thy creature, man, 

Is to existence brought ; 
Again Thou say'st, " Ye sons of men, 

" Return ye into nought!" 

Thou layest them, with all their cares, 

In everlasting sleep ; 
As with a flood Thou tak'st them off 

With overwhelming sweep. 

They flourish like the morning flow'r, 

[n beauty's pride array'd ; 
But long ere night cut down it lies 

All withered and decay 'd. 



TO A 



MOUNTAIN DAISY, 



On turning one down, with the Plough, in April 1786. 



W EE, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, 
Thotfs met me in an evil hour; 
For I maun crush amang thestoure 

Thy slender stem. 
To spare thee now is past my pow'r, 

Thou bonniegem. 



( 151 ) 

Alas ! its no thy neebor sweet, 
The bonnie Lark, companion meet ! 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weetl 

Wi' spreckl'd breast, 
When upward-springing, blythe, to greet 

The purpling east. 

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north 
Upon thy early humble birth ; 
Yet chearfully thou glinted forth 

Amid the storm, 
Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth 

Thy tender form. 

The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield, 
High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield ; 
But thou, beneath the random bield 

O' clod or stane, 
Adorns the histie stibble-jield, 

Unseen, alane. 

There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
Thy snawie bosom sun- ward spread, 
Thou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise; 
But now the share uptears thy bed, 
And .low thou lies ! 

Such is the fate of artless maid, 
Swtetjtow'ret of the rural shade! 
By love's simplicity betray' d, 

And guileless trust, 
Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid 

Low i' the dust. 

Such is the fate of simple bard, 

On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd ! 



( 152 ) 

Unskilful he to note the card 

Of prudent lore, 

Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 
And whelm him o'er ! 

Such fate to suffering worth is giv'n, 

Who long with wants and woes has striv'n, 

By human pride or cunning driv'n 

To mis'ry's brink, 
Till wrench' d of ev'ry stay but Heavn, 

He, ruin'd, sink ! 

Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, 
That fate is thine — no distant date ; 
Stern Ruin's plough-share drives, elate, 

Full on thy bloom, 
Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight, 

Shall be thy doom ! 



TO 

RUIN. 



*»«S> O" *!£* 



Ai 



lLL hail ! inexorable lord ! 
At whose destruction-breathing word, 

The mightiest empires fall ! 
Thy cruel, woe-delighted train, 
The ministers - and pain, 

A sullen welcome, all ! 



( 153 ) 

With stern-resoiv'd, despairing eye, 

I see each aimed dart ; 
For one has cut my dearest tye, 
And quivers in my heart. 
Then low 1 ring, and pouring, 

The storm no more I dread ; 
Tho' thickening and black'ning, 
Round my devoted head. 



II. 



And thou grim pow'r, by life abhoir'd, 
While life a pleasure can afford, 

Oh ! hear a wretch's pray'r ! 
No more I shrink appal I'd afraid ; 
I court, I beg thy friendly aid, 
To close this scene of care ! 
When shall my soul, in silent peace, 

Resign life's joyless day ; 
My weary heart its throbbings cease, 
Cold mould' ring in the clay ; 
No fear more, no tear more, 

To stain my lifeless face, 
Enclasped, and grasped 
Within thy cold embrace! 



( 154 ) 



TO 



MISS L- 



With Beattie's Poems for a New-year's Gift. 
Jan. 1. 1787. 



jlxGATN" the silent wheels of time 
Their annual round have driv'n, 

And you, tho' scarce in maiden prime, 
Are so much nearer Heav'n. 

No gifts haw I from Indian coasts 

The infant year to hail; 
I send you more than India boasts 

In Edwin's simple tale. 

Our sex with guile and faithless love 
Is charg'd, perhaps too true; 

But may, dear maid, each lover prove 
An Edwin still to you. 






( 155 ) 



EPISTLE 



TO A 



YOUNG FRIEND. 

May 1786. 



I. 



I 



LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend, 

A something to have sent you, 
Tho* it should serve nae other end 

Than just a kind memento ; 
But how the subject theme may gang, 

Let time and chance determine ; 
Perhaps, it may turn out a sang ; 
Perhaps, turn out a sermon. 



II. 



XV11 try the world soon, my lad, 
And Andrew dear, believe me, 

KV11 find mankind an unco squad, 
And muckle they may grieve ye : 

7or care and trouble set your thought, 
Ev'n when your end's attained; 



( 156 ) 

And a' your views may come to nought, 
Where ev'ry nerve is strained. 



in. 

Til no say, men are villains a 1 ; 

The real, hardened wicked, 
Wha hae nae check but human law, 

Are to a few restricked : 
But Och, mankind are unco weak, 

An' little to be trusted; 
If self the wavering balance shake, 

It's rarely right adjusted ! 



IV. 

Yet they wha fa' in fortune's strife, 

Their fate we would ha censure, 
For still th' important end of life, 

They equally may answer : 
A man may hae an honest heart, 

Tho' poortith hourly stare him ; 
A man may tak a neebor's part, 

Yet hae nae cash to spare him. 



V. 



Ay free, aft' ban 1 , your story tell, 

When wi' a bosom crony; 
But still keep something to yoursel 

Ye scarcely tell to ony- 
Conceal yoursel as weel's ye can 

Frae critical dissection; 
But keek thro' evVy other man, 

WT sharpen' d sly inspection. 



( 157 ) 
VI. 

The sacred lowe o' weel-plac'd love, 

Luxuriantly indulge it ; 
But never tempt th 1 illicit rove, 

Tho' naething should divulge it: 
I wave the quantum of the sin, 

The hazard of concealing ; 
But Och ! it hardens a' within, 

And petrifies the feeling I 

VIL 

To catch dame fortune's golden smile, 

Assiduous wait upon her; 
And gather gear by ev'ry wile 

That's justify' d by honor : 
Not for to hide it in a hedge, 

Nor for a train-attendant ; 
But for the glorious privilege 

Of being independent 

VIII. 

The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip, 

To haud the wretch in order; 
But where ye feel your honor grip, 

Let that ay be your border : 
It's slightest touches, instant pause — 

Debar a' side pretences; 
And resolutely keep its laws, 

Uncaring consequences. 

IX. 

The great Creator to revere, 
Must sure become the creature ; 
O 



( 158 ) 

But still the preaching cant forbear, 
And ev'n the rigid feature : 

Yet ne'er with wits profane to range, 
Be complaisance extended ; 

An atheist-laugh's a poor exchange 
For deity offended ! 



When ranting round in pleasure's ring, 

Religion may be blinded ; 
Or if she gie a random sting, 

It may be little minded; 
But when on life we're tempest-driv'n, 

A conscience but a canker — 
A correspondence fix'd wi* Heav'n, 

Is sure a noble anchor t 



XL 

Adieu, dear, amiable youth! 

Your heart can ne'er be wanting ! 
May prudence, fortitude, and truth, 

Erect your brow uudaunting ! 
In ploughman phrase, " God send you speed," 

Still daily to grow wiser; 
And may ye better reck the rede, 

Than ever did th' adviser. 



( 159 ) 



ON A 



SCOTCH BARD, 



GONE 70 THE WEST INDIES. 



A YE wha live by sowps o* drink, 
A' ye wha live by crambo-clink, 
A' ye wha live and never think, 

Come mourn wi' me ! 
Our billie's gien us a' a jink, 

An' owre the sea. 

Lament him a' ye rantin core, 
Wha dearly like a random-splore, 
Nae mair he'll join the merry roar 

In social key ; 
For now he's taen anither shore 

An' owre the sea! 

The bonnie lasses weel may wiss him, 
And in their dear petitions place him : 
The widows, wives, an' a' may bless him, 

Wi'tearfu' e'e; 
For weel I wat they'll sairly miss him 

That's owre the sea. 



( 160 ) 

O fortune, they hae room to grumble! 
Hadst thou taen aft some drowsy bumble, 
Wha can do nought but fyke an' fumble, 

'Twad been nae plea; 
But he was gleg as ony wumble, 

That's owre the sea ! 

Auld, cantie Kyle may weepers wear, 
An' stain them wF the saut, saut tear; 
'Twill make her poor auld heart, I fear, 

In flinders flee : 
He was her Laureat monie a year, 

That's owre the sea ! 

He saw misfortune's cauld Nor-icest 
Lang mustering up a bitter blast; 
A jillet brak his heart at last, 

111 may she be! 
So, took a birth afore the mast, 

An' owre the sea. 

To tremble under fortune's cummock, 
On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock, 
Wi' his proud, independent stomach, 

Could ill agree; 
So, row't his hurdies in a hammock, 

An' owre the sea. 

He ne'er was gien to great misguiding, 
Yet coin his pouches wad nae bide in ; 
Wi f him it ne'er was under hiding ; 

He dealt it free: 
The muse was a' that he took pride in, 

That's owre the sea. 

Jamaica bodies, use him weel, 
An 1 hap him in a cozie biel : 



( 161 ) 

Ye'll find him ay a dainty chiel, 

And fou o' glee : 

He wad na wrang'd the vera deil, 

That's owre the sea. 

Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billie ! 
Your native soil was right ill-willie ; 
But may ye flourish like a lily, 

Now bonnilie ! 
I'll toast ye in my hindmost gillie ! 

Tho' ow r re the sea ! 



TO A 

HAGGIS 



JC AIR fa' your honest, sonsie face, 
Great chieftan o' the puddin-race ! 
Aboon them a' ye tak your place, 

Painch, tripe, or thairm : 
Weel are ye wordy of a grace 

As lang's my arm. 

The groaning trencher there ye fill, 
Your hurdies like a distant hill, 
Your pin wad help to mend a mill 

In time o' need, 
While thro' your pores the dews distil 

Like amber bead. 
O 2 



( 162 ) 

His knife see rustic labour dight, 
An' cut you up wi' ready slight, 
Trenching your gushing entrails bright 

Like onie ditch ; 
And then, O what a glorious sight, 

Warm-reekin, rich ! 

Then horn for horn they stretch an' strive, 
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive, 
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve 

Are bent like drums ; 
Then auld guidman, maist like to rive, 

Bethankit hums. 

Is there that o'er his French ragout, 
Or olio that wad staw a sow, 
Or fricassee w r ad mak her spew 

Wi' perfect sconner, 
Looks down w? sneerin, scornfu' view 

On sic a dinner ! 

Poor devil ! see him owre his trash, 
As flckless as a wither'd rash, 
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash, 

His nieve a nit; 
Thro' bloody flood or field to dash, 

O how unfit ! 

But mark the rustic, haggis-fed, 

The trembling earth resounds his tread, 

Clap in his walie nieve a blade, 

He'll mak it whissle ; 
An' legs, an' arms, and heads will sned, 

Like taps o' thrissle. 

pow'rs wha mak mankind your care, 
And dish them out their bill o' fare, 



( 163 ) 

A uld Scotland wants nae stinking ware 
That jaups in luggies; 

But, if ye wish her gratefu' pray'r, 
Gie her a haggis/ 



A 
DEDICATION 



TO 



(j^^^f^^f JJ"^'^^'^'^^'^ Eso» 



HiXPECT na, Sir, in this narration, 
A fleechin, fleth'rin dedication, 
To roose you up, an* ca' you guid, 
An' sprung o' great an' noble bluid, 
Because ye're sirnam'd like his Grace 
Perhaps related to the race ; 
Then when I'm tir'd — and sae are ye 
Wi' mony a fulsome, sinfu' lie, 
Set up a face, how I stop short, 
For fear your modesty be hurt. 

This may do — maun do, Sir, wi' them wha 
Maun please the great folk for a wamefou ; 
For me ! sae laigh I need na bow, 
For, Lord be thankit, I can plough ; 



( 164 ) 

And when I downa yoke a naig, 
Then, Lord be thankit, I can beg ; 
Sae I shall say, an' that's nae flatt'rin, 
It's just sic poet, an' sic patron. 

The poet, some guid angel help him, 
Or else, I fear some ill ane skelp him ! 
He may do weel for a' he's done yet, 
But only he's no just begun yet. 

The patron, (Sir, ye maun forgie me, 
I winna lie, come what will o'me,) 
On ev'ry hand it will allow'd be, 
He's just — nae better than he should be. 

I readily and freely grant, 
He downa see a poor man want ; 
What's no his ain he winna tak it, 
What aince he says he winna break it ; 
Ought he can lend he'll no refus't, 
Till aft his guidness is abus'd ; 
And rascals whyles that do him wrang, 
Ev'n that, he does na mind it lang : 
As master, landlord, husband, father, 
He does na fail his part in either. 

But then, nae thanks to him for a* that; 
Nae godly symptom ye can ca' that; 
It's naething but a milder feature, 
Of our poor, sinfu' corrupt nature: 
Ye' 11 get the best o' moral w T orks, 
'Mang black Gentoos and pagan Turks, 
Or hunters wild on Ponotaxi, 
Wha never heard of orth-d xy, 
That he's the poor man's friend in need, 
The gentleman in word and deed, 
It's no thro' terror of d-mn-t-n; 
It's just a carnal inclination. 



( 165 ) 

Morality, thou deadly bane, 
Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain ! 
Vain is his hope, whose stay and trust is 
In moral mercy, truth, and justice ! 

No — stretch a point to catch a plack; 
Abuse a brother to his back ; 
Steal thro' a icinnock frae a wh-re, 
But point the rake that taks the door; 
Be to the poor like onie whunstane, 
And haud their noses to the grunstane : 
Ply ev'ry art o' legal thieving ; 
No matter, stick to sound believing. 

Learn three-mile pray'rs, an' half-mile graces, 
Wi' weel-spread looves, and lang, wry faces; 
Grunt up a solemn, lengthen' d groan, 
And damn a' parties but your own ; 
I'll warrant then, ye're nae deceiver, 
A steady, sturdy, staunch believer. 

O ye wha leave the springs of C-lv-n 9 
For grumlie dubs of your ain delvin ! 
Ye sons of heresy and error, 
Ye'Il some day squeel in quaking terror; 
When vengeance draws the sword in wrath 
And in the fire throws the sheath ; 
When ruin, with her sweeping besom, 
Just frets till heav'n commission gies him ; 
While e'er the harp pale misery moans, 
And strikes the ever-deep'ning tones, 
Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans 






Your pardon, Sir, for this digression, 
I maist forgat my dedication ; 
But when divinity comes cross me, 
My readers still are sure to lose me. 



( 121 ) 



So, Sir, you see 'twas nae daft vapour, 
But I maturely thought it proper, 
When a' my works I did review, 
To dedicate them, Sir, to you : 
Because (ye need na take tak it ill) 
I thought them something like yoursel. 

Then patronize them wi' your favour, 

And your petitioner shall ever 

I had amaist said, ever pray, 

But that's a word I need na say : 

For prayin I hae little skill o't ; 

I'm baith dead-sweer, an' wretched ill o't; 

But Pse repeat each poor man's prayr, 

That kens or hears about you, Sir 



" May ne'er misfortune's gowling bark, 
Howl thro' the dwelling o' the Clerk / 
May ne'er his geiVrous, honest heart, 
For that same gen'rous spirit smart ! 



May K 



##****» 



s far-honoured name 



Lang beet his hvmeneal flame, 
Till H*******'s, at least a dizen, 
Are frae their nuptial labours risen: 
Five bonnie lasses round their table, 
And seven braw fellows, stout an' able, 
To serve their king and country weel, 
By word, or pen, or pointed steel ! 
May health and peace, with mutual rays, 
Shine on the ev'ning o' his days ; 
Till his wee, curlie John's ier-oo, 
When ebbing life nae mair shall flow, 
The last, sad, mournful rites bestow." 



} 



I will not wind a lang conclusion, 
Wi' complimentary eilusion : 
But whilst your wishes and endeavours, 
Are blest with fortune's smiles and favours, 



( 167 ) 

I am, dear Sir, with zeal most fervent, 
Your mudi indebted, humble servant. 
.^' 
But if (which pow'rs above prevent) 
That iron-hearted carl, Want, 
Attended in his grim advances, 
By sad mistakes, and black mischances, 
While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him, 
Make you as poor a dog as I am, 
Your humble servant then no more ; 
For who would humbly serve the poor ! 
But, by a poor man's hopes in heav'n! 
While recollection's pow'r is giv'n, 
If, in the vale of humble life, 
The victim sad of fortune's strife, 
I, thro' the tender gushing tear, 
Should recognize my master dear, 
If friendless, low, we meet together, 
Then, Sir, your hand, — my friend and brother. 



TO A 

LOUSE, 

On seeing one on a Lady's Bonnet at Church. 



AX A ! whare are ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie, 
Your impudence protects you sairly : 
I canna say but ye strunt rarely, 

Owre gauze and lace ; 
Tho' faith, I fear, ye dine but sparely 

On sic a place. 



( 168 ) 

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner, 
Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner, 
How dare ye set your fit upon her, 

Sae fine a lady ! 
Gae somewhare else and seek your dinner, 

On some poor body, 

Swith, in some beggar's haffet squattle ; 
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle, 
Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle, 

In shoals and nations; 
Whare horn nor bane, ne'er daur unsettle 

Your thick plantations. 

Now baud you there, ye' re out o' sight, 
Below the fatt'rils, snug an' tight; 
Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right 

Till ye've got on it, 
The vera tapmost, tow'ring height 

O' Miss's bonnet. 

My sooth ! right bauld ye set your nose out, 
As plump and gray as onie grozet; 
O ! for some rank, mercurial rozet, 

Or fell, red smeddum, 
I'd gie you sic a hearty doze o't, 

Wad dress your droddum ! 

I wad na been surpris'd to spy 
You on an auld wife's tlainen toy; 
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, 

On'G wyliecoat; 
But Miss's fine Lunardi! fie, 

How daur ye do't ! 

O, Jenny, dinna toss your head, 
An' set your beauties a' abrcad ! 



( 169 ) 

Ye little ken what cursed speed 

The blastie's makin ! 

Thae winks and finger-ends, I dread, 
Are notice takinl 

A wad some pow'r the giftie gie us, 
To see ourselves as others see us ! 
It wad frae monie a blunder free us, 

And foolish notion : 
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, 

And ev'n devotion I 



ADD RE S S 

T O 

EDINBURGH. 



I. 



E 



DINA! Scotia's darling seat! 

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, 
Where once beneath a monarch's feet 

Sat legislation's sov' reign pow'rs ! 
From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs, 

As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, 
And singing, lone, the ling' ring hours, 

I shelter in thy honor'd shade. 
P 



( 170 ) 
II. 

Here wealth still swells the golden tide, 

As busy trade his labour plies; 
There architecture's noble pride 

Bids elegance and splendor rise ; 
Here justice, from her native skies, 

High wields her balance and her rod ; 
There learning, with his eagle eyes, 

Seeks science in her coy abode. 

III. 

Thy sons, Edina, social, kind, 

With open arms the stranger hail; 
Their views enlarged, their lib'rai mind, 

Above the narrow, rural vale; 
Attentive still to sorrow's wail, 

Or modest merit's silent claim : 
And never may their sources fail ! 

And never envy blot their name ! 

IV. 

Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn, 

Gay as the gilded summer sky, 
Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn, 

Dear as the raptur'd thrill of joy ! 
Fair B ■ strikes th' adoring eye, 

Heav'n's beauties on my fancy shine; 
I see the sire of love on high, 

And own his work indeed divine! 

V. 

There watching high the least alarms, 

Thy rough rude fortress gleams afar; 
Like some bold vet'ran, gray in arms, 



( 171 ) 

And mark'd with many a seamy scar : 
The ponderous wall and massy bar, 

Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock; 
Have oft withstood assailing war, 

And oft repeird the invader's shock. 

VI. 

With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears, 

I view that noble, stately dome, 
Where Scotia's kings of other years, 

Fam'd heroes, had their royal home : 
Alas, how chang'd the times to come ! 

Their royal name low in the dust ! 
Their hapless race wild-wand'ring roam ! 

Tho' rigid law cries out, 'twas just ! 

VII. 

Wild beats my heart, to trace your steps, 

Whose ancestors, in days of yore, 
Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps 

Old Scotia's bloody lion bore ; 
Ev'n I, who sing in rustic lore, 

Haply, my Sires have left their shed, 
And facM grim danger's loudest roar, 

Bold-following where your fathers led ! 

VIII. 

Edina ! Scotia s darling seat ! 

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, 
Where once beneath a monarch's feet 

Sat legislation's sov'reign pow'rs! 
From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs, 

As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, 
And singing, lone, the lingering hours, 

I shelter in thy honor'd shade. 



( 172 ) 



EPISTLE 



TO 



J. £****#*K 



AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD. 

April 1, 1785. 



W HILE briers an* woodbines budding green, 
An' paitricks scraichin loud at e'en, 
An' morning pousie whidden seen, 

Inspire my muse, 
This freedom, in an unknown frien', 

I pray excuse. 

On Fasten-een we had a rockin, 

To ca' the crack and weave our stockin ; 

And there was muckle fun and jockin, 

Ye need na doubt ; 
At length we had a hearty yokin 

At sang about. 

There was ae sang> amang the rest, 
A boon them a' it pleas'd me best, 
That some kind husband had addrest 

To some sweet wife ; 
It thirl'd the heart-strings thro' the breast, 

A' to the life. 



( 173 ) 

I've scarce heard ought describ'd sae weel, 
What gen'rous, manly bosoms feel ; 
Thought I, " Can this be Pope, or Steele, 

" Or Beattie's war^" 
They tald me 'twas an odd kind chiel 

About Muirkirk. 

It pat me fidgin-fain to hear't, 
And sae about him there I spier't, 
Then a' that ken't him round declar'd, 

He had ingine, 
That nane excelFd it, few cam near't, 

It was sae fine. 

That set him to a pint of ale, 

An' either douce or merry tale, 

Or rhymes an' sangs he'd made himsel, 

Or witty catches, 
'Tween Inverness and Tiviotdale, 

He had few matches. 

Then up I gat, an' swoor an aith, 

Tho' I should pawn my pleugh and graith, 

Or die a cadger-pownie's death, 

At some dyke back, 
A pint an' gill Pd gie them baith, 

To hear your crack. 

But, first an' foremost, I should tell, 
Amaist as soon as I could spell, 
I to the crambo jingle fell, 

Thfe' rude an' rough, 
Yet crooning to a body's sel, 

Does weel eneugh. 

I am nae poet, in a sense, 
But just a rhymer, like, by chance, 

P 2 



( 174 ) 

An' hae to learning nae pretence, 

Yet, what the matter ? 

Whene'er my muse does on me glance, 
I jingle at her. 

Your critic-folk may cock their nose, 
And say, " How can you e'er propose, 
u You whaken hardly verse frae prose, 

To mak a sang?" 
But, by your leaves, my learned foes, 

Ye're maybe wrang 

What's a' your jargon o' your schools, 
Y~our Latin names for horns an' stools ; 
If honest Nature made you fools, 

What sairs your grammars ? 
Ye'd better taen up spades and shools, 

Or knappin-hammers. 

A set o' dull, conceited hashes, 
Confuse their brains in college classes ! 
They gang in stirks, and come out asses, 

Plain truth to speak ; 
An syne they think to climb Parnassus 

By dint o' Greek ! 

Gis me ae spark o' Nature's fire, 

That's a' the learning I desire ; 

Then though I drudge thro' dub an' mire, 

At pleugh or cart, 
muse, though hamely in attire, 

May touch the heart. 

O for a spunk o' Allan s glee, 
Or Fergnsson's, the bauld and slee, 
Or bright L** ' nay friend to be, 

If I can hit it ! 



( 175 ) 

That would be lear eneugh for me, 
If I could get it. 

Now, Sir, if ye hae friends enow, 
Tho' real friends, I b'lieve are few, 
Yet if your catalogue be fou, 

I'se no insist, 
But gif ye want ae friend that's true, 

I'm on your list. 

I winna blaw about mysel ; 

As ill I like my fauts to tell : 

But friends and folks that wish me well, 

They sometimes roose me ; 
Tho' I maun own, as monie still 

As far abuse me. 

There's ae weefaut they whiles lay to me, 

I like the lasses — Gude forgie me ! 

For monie a plack they wheedle frae me, 

At dance or fair ; 
Maybe some ither thing they gie me 

They weel can spare. 

But Manchline race, or Mauchline fair, 
I should be proud to meet you there ; 
We'se gie ae night's discharge to care, 

If we forgather, 
An' hae a swap o' rhymin-ware 

Wi' ane anither. 

The four-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter, 
An' kirsen him wi' reekin water ; * 
Syne we'll sit down, an' tak our whitter, 

To chear our heart ; 
An' faith, we'se be acquainted better 

Before we part. 



( 176 ) 

Awa ye selfish warly race, 

Wha think that havins, sense, an' grace, 

Ev'n love an' friendship, should give place 

To catcli-the-plack ! 
I dinna like to see your face, 

Nor hear your crack. 

But ye whom social pleasure charms, 
Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms, 
Who hold your being on the terms, 

" Each aid the others/' 
Come to my bowl, come to my arms, 

My friends, my brothers ! 

But, to conclude my lang epistle, 
As my auld pen's worn to the grissle ; 
Twa lines frae you wad gar me fissle, 

Who am, most fervent, 
While I can either sing, or whissle, 

Your friend and servant. 



TO THE SAME. 



April SI, 1785. 



W HILE new-ca'd kye rout at the stake, 
An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik, 
This hour on e'enin's edge I take, 

To own I'm debtor, 
To honest-hearted, auld L*****k, 

For his kind letter. 



( 177 ) 

Forjesket sair, with weary legs, 
Rattlin the corn out-owre the rigs, 
Or dealing thro' amang the naigs 

Their ten hours bite, 
My awkart muse sair pleads and begs, 

I wou'd na write. 

The tapetless ramfeezl'd hizzie, 
She's saft at best, and something lazy, 
Quo' she, " Ye ken, we've been sae busy, 

" This month an' mair, 
" That trouth my head is grown right dizzie, 

" An something sair." 

Her dowff excuses pat me mad ; 

" Conscience," says I, " ye thowless jad! 

" I'll write, an' that a hearty blaud, 

" This vera night ; 
" So dinna ye affront your trade, 

" But rhyme it right. 

" Shall bauld L*****k, the kingo' hearts, 
" Tho' mankind were a pack o' cartes, 
" Roose you sae weel for your deserts, 

" In terms sae friendly, 
" Yet ye'll neglect to shaw your parts, 

" An' thank him kindly !" 

Sae I gat paper in a blink, 

An' down gaed stumpie in the ink : 

Quoth I, " Before I sleep a wink, 

" I vow I'll close it ; 
I " An' if ye w r inna mak it clink, 

" By Jove I'll prose it!" 

Sae I've begun to scrawl, but whether 
In rhyme, or prose, or baith thegither, 



( 178 ) 

Or some hotch-potch that's rightly neither, 
Let time mak proof ; 

But I shall scribble down some blether 
Just clean aff-loof. 

My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' carp, 
Tho' fortune use you hard an' sharp; 
Come, kittle up your moorland harp 

Wi' gleesome touch ! 
Ne'er mind how fortune ivaft an' warp ; 

She's but a b-tch. 

She's gien me monie a jirt and fleg, 
Sin I could striddle owre a rig ; 
But, by the L — d, tho' I should beg 

Wi' lyart pow, 
I'll laugh, an* sing, an' shake my leg, 

As lang's I dow ! 

Now comes the sax an' twentieth simmer, 
I've seen the bud upo' the timmer, 
Still persecuted by the limmer 

Frae year to year : 
But yet, despite the kittle kimmer, 

J, Rob, am here. 

Do ye envy the city Gent, 

Behint a kist to lie and sklent, 

Or purse-proud, big wi* cent, per cent. 

And muckle wame, 
In some bit brugh to represent 

A Bailie's name ? 

Or is't the paughty, feudal thane, 

Wi' ruffl'd sark an* glancing cane, 

Wha thinks himsel Mb Bheep-shank bane, 

But lordly stalks, 



( 179 ) 

While caps and bonnets aff are taen, 
As by he walks? 

u O Thou wha gies us each guid gift ! 

u Gie me o' wit an' sense a lift, 

" Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift, 

" Thro' Scotland wide ; 
" Wi' cits nor lairds I wadna shift, 

" In a' their pride !" 

Were this the charter of our state, 
" On pain o' hell be rich an' great," 
Damnation then would be our fate, 

Beyond remead ; 
But, thanks to Heav'n, that's no the gate 

We learn our creed. 

For thus the royal mandate ran, 
When first the human race began, 
" The social, friendly, honest man, 

" Whate'er he be, 
'Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan, 

" An' none but he/" 

O mandate glorious and divine ! 
The followers of the ragged Nine, 
Poor thoughtless devils ! yet may shine, 

In glorious light, 
While sordid sons of Mammon's line 

Are dark as night. 

Tho' here they scrape, an' squeeze an' growl, 
Their worthless nievefu' of a soul 
May in some future carcase howl. 

The forest's fright ; 
Or in some day detesting owl 

May shun the light, 



( 180 ) 

Then may L*****k and B**** arise, 
To reach their native, kindred skies, 
And sing their pleasures, hopes, an* joys, 

In some mild sphere, 
Still closer knit in friendship's ties 

Each passing year ! 



TO 



W. S*****N, Ochiltree. 



«* •> * •> *,• > 



May, 1785. 



1 GAT your letter, winsome Willie ; 
WV gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie; 
Tho' I maun say't, I wad be silly, 

An' unco vain, 
Should I believe, my coaxin billie, 

Your flatterin strain. 

But l'se believe ye kindly meant it, 
I sud be laith to think ye hinted 
Ironic satire, sidelins sklented 

On my poor music ; 
Tho' in sic phraisin terms ye've penn'd it, 

I scarce excuse ye. 

My senses wad be in a creel, 
Should I but dare a hope to speel, 



( 181 ) 

Wi' Allan, or wi' Gilbertfield, 

The braes o' fame ; 

Or Fergusson, the writer-chiel, 

A deathless name, 

(O Fergusson ! thy glorious parts 

111 suited law's dry, musty arts ! 

My curse upon your whunstane hearts, 

Ye Enbrugh gentry ! 
The tythe o' what ye waste at cartes 

Wad stow'd his pantry !) 

Yet when a tale comes i' my head, 

Or lasses gie my heart a screed, 

As whiles they're like to be my dead, 

(O sad disease !) 
I kittle up my rustic reed; 

It gies me ease. 

Auld Coila now may fidge fu' fain, 

She's gotten poets o' herain, 

Chiels wha their chanters winna hain, 

But tune their lays, 
Till echoes a' resound again 

Her weel-sung praise. 

Nae poet thought her worth his while, 
To set her name in measur'd style; 
She lay like some unkend-of isle 

Beside Neiv Hollan\ 
Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil 

Besouth Magellan. 

Ramsay an' famous Fergusson 
Gied Forth an' Tay a lift aboon ; 
Yarrow an' Tweed, to monie a tune, 

Owre Scotland rings, 
Q 



( 182 ) 

While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, an' Doon , 
Naebody sings. 

Th' Illissus, Tiber, Thames, an Seine, 
Glide sweet in monie a tunefu' line ! 
But, Willie, set your fit to mine, 

An' cock your crest, 
We'll gar our streams an' burnies shine 

Up wi' the best. 

We'll sing auld CW/a's plains an' fells, 
Her moors red-brown wi' heather-bells, 
Her banks an' braes, her dens an' dells, 

Where .glorious Wallace 
Aft bure the gree, as story tells, 

Frae Southron billies. 

At Wallace'* name what Scottish blood 
But boils up in a spring-tide flood ! 
Oft have our fearless fathers strode 

By Wallace' side, 
Still pressing onward, red-wat shod, 

Or glorious dy'd. 

O sweet are Coila's haughs an' woods, 
When lintwhites chant amang the buds, 
And jinkin hares, in amorous whids, 

Their loves enjoy, 
While thro' the braes the cushat croods 

With wailfu' cry ! 

Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me 
When winds rave thro' the naked tree ; 
Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree 

A re hoary gray ; 
Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee, 

Darkening the day ! 



( 183. ) 

O Nature ! a' thy shew an' forms, 
To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms! 
Whether the summer kindly warms, 

Wi' life an light, 
Or winter howls, in gusty storms, 

The lang, dark night ! 

The muse, nae poet ever fand her, 
Till by himsel' he learn' d to wander, 
Adown some trotting burn's meander, 

An no think lang ; 
O sweet, to stray an' pensive ponder 

A heart-felt sang ! 

The warly race may drudge an' drive, 
Hog-shouther, jundie, stretch an' strive, 
Let me fair Nature's face descrive, 

And I w? pleasure, 
Shall let the busy, grumbling hive 

Bum owre their treasure. 

Fareweel, " my rhyme-composing brither!" 
We've been owre lang unkenn'd to ither : 
Now let us lay our heads thegither, 

In love fraternal : 
May Envy wallop in a tether, 

Black fiend infernal ! 

While Highlandmen hate tolls an' taxes ! 
While moorlan' herds like guid, fat braxies ; 
While Terra Firma, on her axis, 

Diurnal turns, 
Count on a friend, in faith an' practice, 

In Robert Bums. 



( ^84 ) 



POSTSCRIPT. 

My memory's no worth a preen ; 

I had amaist forgotten clean, 

Ye bade me write you what they mean 

By this new-light* , 
'Bcut which our herds sae aft hae been 

Maist like to fight 

In days when mankind were but callans 

At Grammar, Logic, an' sic talents, 

They took nae pains their speech to balance, 

Or rules to gie, 
But spak their thoughts in plain, braid Lallans, 

Like you or me. 

In thae auld times, they thought the ?noon 9 
Just like a sark, or pair o' shoon, 
Wore by degrees, till her last roon, 

Gaed past the viewing, 
An' shortly after she was done 

They gat a new one. 

This past for certain, undisputed ; 
It ne'er cam f their heads to doubt it, 
Till chiels gat up an' wad confute it, 

An' ca'd it wrang; 
An' muckle din there was about it, 

Baith loud an' lang. 

Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the beuk, 
Wad threap auld fock the thing misteuk ; 
For 'twas the auld moon tum'd a neuk, 
An' out o' sight, 



See Note, p. 51. 



( 185 ) 

An backiins-comin, to the leuk, 

She grew mair bright. 

This was deny'd, it was affirm'd ; 

The herds an hissels were alarm'd : 

The rev'rend gray-beards rav'd an* storm'd, 

That beardless laddies 
Should think they better were inform'd 

Than their auld daddies. 

Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks ; 
Frae words an' aiths to clours an* nicks ; 
An' monie a fallow gat his licks, 

Wi' hearty crunt ; 
An' some, to learn them for their tricks, 

Were hang'd an' brunt. 

This game was play'd in monie lands, 
An' auld-light caddies bure sic hands, 
That faith the youngsters took the sands 

Wi' nimble shanks, 
Till Lairds forbade, by strick commands, 

Sic bluidy pranks. 

But new-light herds gat sic a cowe, 

Folk thought them ruin'd stick-an-stowe, 

Till now amaist on ev'ry knowe, 

Ye'll find ane plac'd ; 
An' some their new-light fair avow, 

Just quite barefac'd. 

Nae doubt the auld-light flocks are bleatin ; 
Their zealous herds are vex'd an' sweatin ; 
Mysel, I've even seen them greetin 

Wi' girnin spite, 
To hear the moon sae sadly lie'd on 

Bv word an' write. 
Q 2 



( 186 ) 

But shortly they will cowe the louns ! 
Some auld-Ught herds in neebor towns 
Are mind't, in things they ca balloons, 

To tak a flight, 
An' stay ae month amang the moons, 

An' see them right. 

Guid observation they will gie them ; 

An' when the auld moons gaun to lea'e them, 

The hindmost shaird, they'll fetch it wi' them, 

Just i' their pouch, 
An' when the new-light billies see them, 

I think they'll crouch ! 

Sae, ye observe that a' this clatter 

Is naething but a " moonshine matter ;" 

But tho' dull prose-folk Latin splatter 

In logic tulzie, 
I hope, we bardies ken some better 

Than mind sic brulzie. 



EPISTLE 

TO 

J. R * * * * * *, 
losing some Poems. 



O ROUGH, rude, ready-witted R****** 
le o' cocks for fun and drinkin! 



( 187 ) 

There's monie godly folks are thinkin, 

Your dreams* an' tricks 

Will send you, Korah like, a-sinkin, 

Straught to auld Nicks. 

Ye hae sae monie cracks an' cants, 
And in your wicked, drunken rants, 
Ye mak a devil o' the saunts, 

An' fill themfou ; 
And then their failings, flaws, an' wants, 

Are a' seen thro'. 

Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it! 

That holy robe, O dinna tear it i 

Spare' t for their sakes wha aften wear it, 

The lads in black ; 
But your curst wit, when it comes near it, 

Rives' t aff their back. 

Think, wicked sinner, wha ye're skaithing, 
It's just the Blue-goicn badge an claithing 
O' saunts ; tak that, ye lea'e them naithing 

To ken them by, 
Frae onv unregenerate heathen 

Like you or I. 

I've sent you here some rhyming ware, 
A' that I bargain' d for an' mair ; 
Sae, when ye hae an hour to spare, 

I will expect, 
Yon Sang f, ye'llsen't wi' cannie care, 

And no neglect. 



* A certain humorous dream of his was then making a 
noise m the country-side. 

f A So?tg he had promised the Author. 



( 188 ) 

Tho* faith sma 1 heart hae I to sing ! 
My muse dow scarcely spread her wing ! 
I've play'd mysel a bonnie spring, 

An' danc'dmy fill; 
I'd better gaen an' sair'd the King, 

At Bunker's Hill. 

'Twas ae night lately in my fun, 

I gae a rovin wi! the gun, 

An brought a.paitrick to the grun', 

A bonnie hen, 
And, as the twilight was begun, 

Thought nane wad ken. 

The poor, wee thing was little hurt; 

I straikit it a wee for sport, 

Ne'er thinkin they wad fash me for't ; 

But, deil-ma-care! 
Somebody tells the poacher-court 

The hale affair. 

Some auld, us'd hands had taen a note, 
That sic a hen had got a shot; 
I was suspected for the plot ; 

I scorn'd to lie ; 
So gat the whissle o' my groat, 

An' pay't the fee. 

But by my gun, o' guns the wale, 
An' by my pouther^an' my hail, 
An 1 by my hen, an* by her tail, 

I vow an' swear ! 
The game shall pay, o'er moor an' dale, 

For this, niest year. 

As soon's the clockin-time is by, 
An' the wee pouts begun to cry, 



( 189 ) 

L — d, I'se hae sport in by an' by, 

For my gowd guinea : 

Tho' I should herd the buckskin kye 
For't, in Virginia, 

Trowth, they had muckle for to blame ! 
'Twas neither broken wing nor limb, 
But twa-three draps about the wame 

Scarce thro' the feathers ; 
An' baith a yellow George to claim, 

An' thole their blethers! 

It pits me ay as mad's a hare; 

So I can rhyme nor write nae mair ; 

But penny ic or t lis again is fair, 

When time's expedient: 
Meanwhile I am, respected Sir, 

Your most obedient. 



JOHN BARLEYCORN*. 



A 
BALLAD. 



I. 

1 HERE was three kings into the east. 
Three kings both great and high, 

* This is partly composed on the plan of an old son* known 
>y the same name. ° 



( 190 ) 

An' they hae sworn a solemn oath 
John Barleycorn should die. 

II. 

They took a plough and plow'd him down, 

Put clods upon his head, 
And they hae sworn a solemn oath 

John Barleycorn was dead. 

III. 

But the chearful Spring came kindly on, 

And show'rs began to fall ; 
John Barleycorn got up again, 

And sore surpris'd them all. 

IV. 

The sultry suns of Summer came, 
And he grew thick and strong, 

His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears, 
That no one should him wrong. 



The sober Autumn enter'd mild, 
When he grew wan and pale ; 

His bending joints and drooping head 
Show'd he began to fail. 

VI. 

His colour sicken d more and more, 

He faded into age ; 
And then his enemies began 

To show their deadly rage. 



( 191 ) 
VII. 

They've taen a weapon, long and sharp, 

And cut him by the knee ; 
Then ty'd him fast upon a cart, 

Like a rogue for forgerie. 

VIII. 

They laid him down upon his back, 
And cudgell'd him full sore ; 

They hung him up before the storm, 
And turn'd him o'er and o'er 



IX. 

They filled up a darksome pit, 
With water to the brim, 

They heaved in John Barleycorn, 
There let him sink or swim. 



They laid him out upon the floor, 
To work him farther woe, 

And still, as signs of life appear'd, 
They toss'd him to and fro. 



XL 

They wasted, o'er a scorching flame, 

The marrow of his bones ; 
But a miller us'd him worst of all, 

For he crush'd him between two stones* 



( 192 ) 



XII. 

And they hae taen his very heart's blood, 
And drank it round and round ; 

And still the more and more they drank, 
Their joy did more abound 



XIII. 

John Barleycorn was a hero bold, 

Of noble enterprise, 
For if you do but taste his blood, 

'Twill make your courage rise. 



XIV. 

'Twill make a man forget his woe ; 

'Twill heighten all his joy : 
'Twill may the widow's heart to sing, 

Tho' the tear were in her eye. 

XV. 

Then let us toast John Barleycorn, 
Each man a glass in hand ; 

And may his great posterity 
Ne'er fail in old Scotland 1 



( 193 ) 
A FRAGMENT. 

Tune, — Killicrankie. 



W HEN Guilford good our pilot stood, 

An' did our hellim thraw, man ; 
Ae night, at tea, began a plea, 

With in America , man : 
Then up they gat the maskin-pat, 

And in the sea did jaw, man ; 
An'^ did nae less, in full Congress, 

Than quite refuse our law, man. 

II. 

Then thro' the lakes Montgomenj takes, 

I wat he was na slaw, man ; 
Down Loiorie's bum he took a turn, 

And C+l-t-n did ca', man : 
But yet, whatreck, he, at Quebec, 

Montgomery like did fa', man, 
WV sword in hand, before his band, 

Amang his en'mies a' man. 

Ill 

Poor Tammy G-ge within a cage 
Was kept at Boston ha\ man • 
R 



( 194 ) 

Till Willie H—e took o'er the knowe 

For Philadelphia, man: 
Wi' sword an' gun he thought a sin 

Guid christian blood to draw, man ; 
But at New-York, wf knife an' fork, 

Sir Loin he hacked sma', man. 



IV. 

B-rg—ne gaed up, like spur an' whip, 

Till Fraser brave did la , man ; 
Then lost his way, ae misty day, 

In Saratoga shaw, man. 
C-rnw-U-s fought as lang's he dought, 

An' did the Buckskins claw, man ; 
But Cl-nt-n's glaive frae rust to save 

He hung it to the wa', man. 



V. 



Then M-nt-gue, an' Guilford too, 

Began to fear a fa', man ; 
And S-ckv-lle doure, wha stood the stoure, 

The German chief to thraw, man: 
For Paddy B-rke like ony Turk, 

Xae mercy had at a', man ; 
An Charlie F-x threw by the box, 

An' lows' d his tinkler jaw, man. 



VI. 

Then R-ck-ngh-m took up the game; 
Till death did on him ca\ man ; 

k held up his cheek, 
Conform to gospel law, man : 






( 195 ) 

Saint Stephen s boys, wi' jarring noise, 
They did his measures thraw, man : 

For N-ith an' F-x united stocks, 
An' bore him to the wa', man. 

VII. 

Then clubs an' hearts were Charlies cartes, 

He swept the stakes awa', man, 
Till the diamond's ace, of Indian race, 

Led him a smrfaux pas, man : 
The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads, 

On Chatham's Boy did ca', man : 
An' Scotland drew her pipe an' blew, 

" Up, Willie, waur them a', man! 9 

VIII. 

Behind the throne then Gr-nv-lles gone, 

A secret word or twa, man ; 
While slee D-nd-s arous'd the class 

Be-north the Roman wa, man : 
An Chatham's wraith, in heavenly graith, 

(Inspired bardies saw, man) 
Wi' kindling eyes cry'd, " Willie, rise ! 

" Would I hae fear'd them a', man !" 

IX. 

But, word an' blow, N-rth, F-x and Co. 

Gowff'd Willie like a ba', man, 
Till Suthron raise, and coost their claise 

Behind him in a raw, man : 
An' Caledon threw by the drone, 

An' did her whittle draw, man : 
An' swoor fu' rude, thro' dirt an' blood 

To mak it guid in law, man. 



( 196 ) 

SONG. 

Tune, — Com rigs are bonnie. 

i. 



i 



T was upon a Lammas night, 

When corn rigs are bonnie, 
Beneath the moon's unclouded light, 

I held awa to Annie : 
The time flew by, wi' tentless heed, 

Till 'tween the late and early ; 
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed, 

To see me thro' the barley. 



II. 



The sky was blue, the wind was still, 

The moon was shining clearly ; 
I set her down, wi' right good will, 

Aman^ the rigs o' barley ; 
I ken't her heart was a my ain; 

I lovM her most sincerely ; 
I kiss'd her owre and owre again 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

III. 

I lock'd her in my fond embrace ; 
Hor heart was beating rarely : 



( 197 ) 

My blessings on that happy place, 
Amang the rigs o' barley ! 

But by the moon and stars so bright, 
That shone that hour so clearly ! 

She ay shall bless that happy night, 
Amang the rigs o' barley. 



IV. 

I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear ; 

I hae been merry drinkin ; 
I hae been joyfu' gath'rin gear; 

I hae been happy thinking: 
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, 

Tho' three times doubl'd fairly, 
That happy night was worth them a', 

Airtang the rigs o' barley. 



CHORUS. 

Corn rigs, an barley rigs, 
An' corn rigs are bonnie : 

I'll ne'er forget that happy night, 
Amang the rigs wi' Annie. 



R 2 



( 198 ) 



SONG. 



COMPOSED IN AUGUST. 



Tune, — I had a horse, I had ime mair. 



I. 

JN OW westlin winds, and slaughtering guns 

Bring Autumn s pleasant weather ; 
The moorcock springs, on whirring wings, 

Amang the blooming heather; 
Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain, 

Delights the weary fanner; 
And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night, 

To muse upon my charmer. 



II. 



The partridge loves the fruitful fells; 

The plover loves the mountain^ ; 
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells ; 

The soaring hem the fountains : 
Thro* loi the cushat roves 

The path of man to shim it; 
The rhangs the thrush, 

The spreading thorn the linnet. 






( 199 ) 



III. 

Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find, 

The savage and the tender ; 
Some social join, and leagues combine ; 

Some solitary wander : 
A vaunt, away ! the cruel sway, 

Tyrannic man's dominion ; 
The sportsman's joy, the murd'ring cry, 

The fluttering, gory pinion ! 



IV. 

But Peggy dear, the ey'ning's clear, 

Thick flies the skimming swallow ; 
The sky is blue, the fields in view, 

All fading-green and yellow ; 
Come let us stray our gladsome way, 

And view the charms of Xature ; 
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn, 

And ev'ry happy creature. 



We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk, 

Til 1 the silent moon shine clearly ; 
I'll grasp thy waist, and fondly press't, 

Swear how I love thee dearly ; 
Not vernal show'rs to budding flow'rs, 

Xot Autumn to the farmer, 
So dear can be as thou to me, 

My fair, my lovely charmer ! 



( 200 ) 



SONG. 



Tune,— My Nanie, O. 



I. 



B 



HIND yon hills where Stinchar flows, 
'Mang moors an' mosses many, O, 
The wintry sun the day has clos'd, 
And I'll awa to Nanie, O. 



II. 



The westlin wind blaws loud an' shill ; 

The night's baith mirk and rainy, O ; 
But I'll get my plaid, an* out I'll steal, 

An' owre the hill to Nanie, O. 

III. 

My Nanie's charming, sweet an' young, 
Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O : 

May ill befa' the flattering tongue 
That wad beguile my Nanie, O. 

IV. 

Her face is fair, her heart is true, 
As spotless as she's bonnie, O; 



( 201 ) 

The op'ning gowan, wat wi' dew, 
Nae purer is than Name, O. 

V. 

A country lad is my degree, 

An few there be that ken me, O : 

But what care I how few they be, 
I'm welcome ay to Name, Q. 



VI. 

My riches a's my penny-fee, 
An' I maun guide it cannie, O ; 

But warl's gear ne'er troubles me, 
My thoughts are a , my Nanie, O. 



VII. 

Our auld guidman delights to view 
His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie, O ; 

But I'm as blythe that hauds his pleugh, 
An' has nae care but Nanie, O. 



VIII. 

Come weel, come woe, I care na by, 
I'll tak what Heav'n will sen' me, O ; 

Nae ither care in life have" I, 
But live, an' love my Nanie, O. 



( 202 ) 



GREEN GROW THE RASHES. 
A FRA G ME NT. 



CHORUS. 



Green grow the rashes, O ; 

Green grow the rashes, O ; 
The sweetest hours that e'er I spent, 

Are spent among the lasses, 0. 



I. 



X HERE'S nought but care on ev'ry han\ 
In every hour that passes, O : 
"What signifies the life o' man, 
An' 'twere na for the lasses, O. 

Green grow, &c. 



II. 



The warly race may riches chase, 
An' riches still may fly them, O; 

An* tho' at last they catch them fast, 
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. 
Green grow, &c. 



( 203 ) 



III. 



But gie me a canny hour at e'en, 
My arms about my dearie, O ; 

An' warly cares, an' warly men, 
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O. 

Green grow, &c. 



IV. 

For you sae douse, ye sneer at this, 
Ye're nought but senseless asses, O 

The wisest man the warl' e'er saw, 
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O. 

Green grow, &c. 



Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears 
Her noblest work she classes, O : 

Her prentice han' she try'd on man, 
An' then she made the lasses, O. 

Green groic, &c. 



( 204 ) 



SONG. 



Tune, — Jockey's Grey Breeks. 



I. 



jHLGAIN rejoicing Nature sees 
Her robe assume its vernal hues, 

Her leafy locks wave in the breeze 
All freshly steep d in morning clews. 



CHORUS.* 

And maun I still on Menie t doat, 
And bear the scorn that's in her e V / 

For it's jet, jet black, an it's like a hawk, 
An it icinna let a body be ! 



II. 



In vain to me the cowslips blaw, 
In vain to me the vi'lets spring; 

• This Chorus is part of a Song compofed by a gentleman in Edin- 
burgh, a particular friend of the Author's. 

f Mcnic is the common abbreviation of Mariamnc. 



( 205 ) 

In vain to me, in glen or shaw, 
The mavis and the lintwhite sing. 
And maun I still, &c. 



III. 

The merry ploughboy chears his team, 
Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks, 

But life to me's a weary dream, 
A dream of ane that never wauks. 
And maun I still, &c. 



IV. 

The wanton coot the water skims, 
Amang the reeds the ducklings cry, 

The stately swan majestic swims, 
And ev'ry thing is blest but I. 

And maun I still, &c. 



The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap, 
And owre the moorlands whistles shill, 

Wi' wild, unequal, wandVing step 
I meet him on the dewy hill. 

And maun I still, &c. 



VI. 



And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, 

Blythe waukens by the daisy's side, 
And mounts and sings on flittering wings, 



( 206 ) 

A woe-worn ghaist I bameward glide. 
And maun I still, &c. 



VII. 

Come Winter, with thine angry howl, 
And raging bend the naked tree ; 

Thy gloom will soothe my chearless soul, 
When Nature all is sad like me! 



And maun I still on Menie doat, 
And bear the scorn that's in her e'e ! 

For it's jet± jet black, an' it's like a hawk, 
Ail it winna let a body he. 



SONG 

Tune, Roslin Castle. 



JL HE gloomy night is gathering f. 
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast, 
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, 
I see it driving o'er the plain; 
/The hunter now h the moor, 

The scattered coveys n ure, 

Wh I wander, prest with t, 

Along the lonely banks of Ayr. 



( 207 ) 

II 

The Autumn mourns her ripning corn 
By early Winter's ravage torn ; 
Across her placid, azare sky, 
She sees the scowling tempest fly : 
Chill runs my blood to ftear it rave, 
I think upon the stormy wave, 
Where many a danger I must dare, 
Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr. 

III. 

'Tis not the surging billow's roar, 
'Tis not that fatal, deadly shore ; 
Tho' death in ev'ry shape appear, 
The wretched have no more to fear : 
But round my heart the ties are bound, 
That heart transpierc'd with many a wound ; 
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, 
To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr* 



IV. 



Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales, 
Her heathy moors and winding vales; 
The scenes where wretched fancy roves, 
Pursuing past, unhappy loves! 
Farewell, my friends ! farewell, my foes ! 
My peace with these, my love with those- 
The bursting tears my heart declare, 
Farewell, the bonnie banks Ayr ! 



( 208 ) 



SONG. 

Tune, Gilderoy. 



JL ROM thee, Eliza, I must go, 

And from my native shore : 
The cruel fates between us throw 

A boundless ocean's roar: 
But boundless oceans, roaring wide. 

Between my love and me, 
They never, never can divide 

My heart and soul from thee ! 



II. 



Farew T ell, farewell, Eliza dear, 

The maid that I adore! 
A boding voice is in mine ear, 

Y\V part to meet no more! 
But \\n: last throb that leaves my heart, 

While death stands victor by, 
That throb, Eliza, is thy part* 

And thine that latest sigh ! 



( 209 ) 



THE FAREWELL, 

CO THE BRETHREN OF ST. JAMES'S LODGE, 
TARBOLTON. 

Tune,— Goodnight, and joy be wi you a\ 



ADIEU ! a heart-warm, fond adieu ! 

Dear brothers of the mystic tye ! 
Ye favour'd, ye enlightened few, 

Companions of my social joy! 
Tho' I to foreign lands must hie, 

Pursuing fortunes slidd'ry ba, 
With melting heart, and brimful eye, 

I'll mind you still, tho' far awa\ 



II. 

Oft have I met your social. band, 

And spent the chearful, festive night ; 

Oft, honoured with supreme command, 
Presided o'er the sons of light ; 

S 2 



( 210 ) 

And by that hieroglyphic bright, 

Which none but craftsmen ever saw ! 

Strong mem'ry on my heart shall write 
Those happy scenes when far awa\ 

III. 

May freedom, harmony, and love, 

Unite you in the grand design, 
Beneath th' Omniscient eye above, 

The glorious Architect divine! 
That you may keep th' unerring line, 

Still rising by the plummet's law, 
Till order bright completely shine, 

Shall be my pray'r when far awa\ 



IV. 

And you farewell! whose merits claim, 

Justly, that highest badge to wear! 
Heav'n bless your honoured, noble name, 

To masonry and Scotia dear! 
A last request permit me here, 

"When yearly ye assemble a', 
One round, I ask it with a tear, 

To him, the bard that's far awa\ 



( 211 ) 



SONG. 



Tune, Prepare, my dear brethren, to the tavern let's 

fly, &c. 



IN O churchman am I for to rail and to write, 
No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight, 
No sly man of business contriving a snare, 
For a big-bellyd bottle's the whole of my care. 

II 

The peer I don't envy, I give him his bow ; 

I scorn not the peasant, tho' ever so low ; 

But a club of good fellows, like those that are here, 

And a bottle like this, are my glory and care. 



III. 

Here passes the squire on his brother — his horse ; 
There centum per centum, the cit with his purse; 
But see you the crown how it waves in the air, 
There a big-belly' d bottle still eases my care. 



( 212 ) 



IV 



The wife of my bosom, alas! she did die; 
For sweet consolation to church I did fly ; 
I found that old Solomon proved it fair, 
That a big-belly'd bottle's a cure for all care. 



V. 



I once was persuaded a venture to make; 
A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck; 
But the pursy old landlord just waddled up stairs, 
With a glorious bottle that ended my cares. 



VI. 



-a maxim laid 



" Life's cares they are comforts* "- 

down 
By the bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the black 

gown ; 
And faith I agree with th' old prig to a hair; 
For a big-belly'd bottle's a heav'n of care. 



A Stanza added in a Mason Lodge. 

Then fill up a bumper, and make it o'erflow, 
And honours masonic prepare for to throw ; 
May every true brother of th' compass and square 
Have a big-belly'd bottle when harass' d with care. 



* Young's Night Thoughts. 



( 213 ) 

WRITTEN IN 
FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE, 

ON NITH'SJD E. 



L HOU whom chance may hither lead, 
Be thou clad in russet weed, 
Be thou deckt in silken stole, 
Grave these counsels on thy soul. 

Life is but a day at most, 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost ; 
Hope not sunshine ev'ry hour, 
Fear not clouds will alwavs lour. 

As youth and love, with sprightly dance, 
Beneath thy morning star advance, 
Pleasure with her siren air 
May delude the thoughtless pair; 
Let prudence bless enjoyment's cup, 
Then raptur'd sip, and sip it up. 

As thy day grows warm and high, 
Life's meridian flaming nigh, 
Dost thou spurn the humble vale ? 
life's proud summits wouldst thou scale ? 
2heck thy climbing step, elate, 
Evils lurk in felon wait : 



( 214 ) 



Dangers, eagle-pinioned, bold, 

Soar around each cliffy hold, 

While chearful peace, with linnet song, 

Chants the lowly dells among. 

As the shades of ev'ning close, 
Beck'ning thee to long repose; 
As life itself becomes disease, 
Seek the chimney-nook of ease. 
There ruminate with sober thought, 
On all thou'st seen, and heard, and wrought ; 
And teach the sportive younkers round, 
Laws of experience, sage and sound. 
Say, man's true, genuine estimate, 
The grand criterion of his fate, 
Is not, art thou high or low? 
Did thy fortune ebb or flow ? 
Did many talents gild thy span ? 
Or frugal Nature grudge thee one ? 
Tell them, and press it on their mind, 
As thou thyself must shortly find, 
The smile or frown of awful Heav'n, 
To virtue or to vice is giv'n. 
Say, to be just, and kind, and wise, 
There solid self-enjoyment lies; 
That foolish, selfish, faithless ways, 
Lead to be wretched, vile, and base. 



Thus resign'd and quiet, creep 
To the bed of lasting sleep ; 
Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake, 
Night, where dawn shall never break, 
Till future life, future no more, 
To light and joy the good restore, 
To light and joy unknown before. 






Stranger, go! HeaV be thy guide! 
Quod the Beadsman of Kith-side. 



( 215 ) 

ODE, 

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF 

Mrs. — — of . 



.DWELLER in yon dungeon dark, 
Hangman of creation, mark ! 
Who in widow weeds appears, 
Laden with unhonoured years, 
Noosing with care a bursting purse, 
Baited with many a deadly curse? 



STROPHE. 

View the wither' d beldam's face — 
Can thy keen inspection trace 
Aught of humanity's sweet melting grace ? 
Note that eye, 'tis rheum o'erflows, 
Pity's flood there never rose. 
See those hands, ne'er stretch'd to save, 

Hands that took but never gave. 

Keeper of Mammon's iron chest, 

Lo, there she goes, unpitied and unblest 

She goes, but not to realms of everlasting rest ! 

ANTI3TROPHE. 

Plunderer of armies, lift thiue eyes ! 
(A while forbear, ye tort'ring fiends), 



( 216 ) 

Seest thou whose step, unwilling, hither bends ? 
No fallen angel, hurl'd from upper skies; 
'Tis thy trusty quondam mate, 
Doom'd to share thy fiery fate, 
She, tardy, hell-wards plies. 

EPODE. 

And are they of no more avail, 
Ten thousand glitt'ring pounds a-year? 
In other worlds can Mammon fail, 
Omnipotent as he is here ? 
O, bitter mock'ry of the pompous bier, 
While down the wretched vital part is driv'n 1 
The cave-lodg'd beggar, with a conscience clear, 
Expires in rags, unknown, and goes to Heav'n. 



ELEGY 

ON 

Capt. M H- 



A Gentleman tcho held the Patent for his Honours 
immediately from Almighty God ! 



But now /us radiant coarse is run, 
For Matthew S course was bright ; 

His soul was like the glorious sun, 
A match ess Hcav'nlj/ Ugh? ! 



O DEATH ! thou tyrant fell and bloody ! 
The miekle devil wi' a woodie 



( 217 ) 

Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie, 
O'er hurcheon hides, 

And like stock-fish come o'er his studdie 
Wi' thy auld sides ! 

He's gane, he's gane ! he's frae us torn, 

The ae best fellow e'er was born ! 

Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel' shall mourn 

By wood and wild, 
Where, haply, Pity strays forlorn, 

Frae man exil'd. 

Ye hill, near neebors o' the starns, 
That proudly cock your cresting cairns ! 
Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns, 

Where Echo slumbers ! 
Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns, 

My wailing numbers ! 

Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens ! 

Y"e hazly shaws and briery dens ! 

Ye burnies, wimplin down your glens, 

Wi' toddlin din, 
Or foaming, Strang, wi' hasty stens, 

Frae lin to lin. 

Mourn, little harebells o'er the lee ; 
. Ye stately foxgloves fair to see ; 
Ye woodbines hanging bonnilie, 

In scented bow'rs; 
Ye roses on your thorny tree, 

The first o' flowers. 

At daw T n, when ev'ry grassy blade 
Droops with a diamond at his head, 
At ev'n, when beans their fragrance shed, 
I' th' rustiing gale, 



( 218 ) 

Ye maukins whiddin thro 1 the glade 

Come join my wail. 

Mourn, ye wee songsters o* the wood ; 
Ye grouss that crap the heather bud ; 
Ye curlews calling thro' a clud ; 

Ye whistling plover ; 
And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood ; 

He's gane for ever! 

Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals ; 
Ye fisher herons, watching eels ; 
Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels 

Circling the lake; 
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, 

Rair for his sake. 

Mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o' day, 
'Mang fields o' flow'ring clover gay; 
And when ye wing your annual way 

Frae our cauld shore, 
Tell thae far warlds, wha lies in clay, 

Wham we deplore. 

Ye houlets, frae your ivy bow 7, 
In some auld tree, or eldritch tow'r, 
What time the moon, wi' silent glow'r, 

Sets up her horn, 
Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour 

Till waukrife morn ! 

O, rivers, forests, hills and plains! 
Oft have ye heard my canty strains ; 
But now, what else for me remains 
^' But tales of woe? 

And frae my e'e the dropping rains 
Mam ever flow. 






( 219 ) 

Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the year ! 
Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear : 
Thou, Simmer, while each corny spear 

Shoots up its head, 
Thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear, 
For him that's dead ! 

Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, 
In grief thy sallow mantle tear ! 
Thou, Winter, hurling thro' the air 

The roaring blast, 
Wide o'er the naked world declare 

The worth we've lost ! 

Mourn him, thou Sun, great source of light ! 
Mourn, Empress of the silent Night ! 
And you, ye twinkling starnies bright, 

My Matthew mourn ! 
For through your orbs he's taen his flight 

Ne'er to return. 

O, H******** ! the man ! the brother! 
And art thou gone, and gone for ever ! 
And hast thou crost that unknown river, 

Life's dreary bound ! 
Like thee, where shall I And another, 
The world around ! 

Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye great, 
In a' the tinsel trash o' state ! 
But by thy honest turf I'll wait, 

Thou man of worth ! 
And weep the ae best fellow's fate 

E'er lay in earth. 

THE EPITAPH. 
Stop, passenger ! my story's brief, 
And truth I shall relate, man ; 



( 220 ) 

I tell nae common tale o' grief, 
For Matthew was a great man. 

If thou uncommon merit hast, 

Yet spurn d at Fortune's door, man ; 

A look of pity hither cast, 

For Matthew was a poor man. 

If thou a noble sodger art, 

That passest by this grave, man, 

There moulders here a gallant heart ; 
For Matthew was a brave man. 

If thou on men, their works and ways, 
Canst throw uncommon light, man ; 

Here lies, wha weel had won thy praise, 
For Matthew was a bright man. 



J o l 



If thou at friendship's sacred ca' 
Wad life itself resign, man ; 

Thy sympathetic tear maun fa\ 
For Matthew was a kind man. 

If thou art staunch without a stain, 
Like the unchanging blue, man : 

This was a kinsman o' thy ain, 
For Matthew was a true man. 

If thou hast wit, and fun and fire, 
And ne'er gude wine did fear, man: 

This was thy billie, dam, and sire, 
For Matthew was a queer man. 

If ony whiggish whingin sot, 

To blame poor Matthew dare, man ; 
May dool and sorrow be his lot, 

For Matthew was a rare man. 



( 221 ) 

LAMENT OF 
MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS 

ON THE 
APPROACH OF SPRING. 



JN OW Nature hangs her mantle green 

On every blooming tree, 
And spreads their sheets o' daisies white 

Out o'er the grassy lea : 
Now Phoebus chears the crystal streams, 

And glads the azure skies ; 
But nought can glad the weary wight 

That fast in durance lies. 

Now laverocks wake the merry morn, 

Aloft on dewy wing : 
The merle, in his noontide bow'r, 

Makes woodland echoes ring ; 
The mavis mild, wi' many a note, 

Sings drowsy day to rest : 
In love and freedom they rejoice, 

Wi' care nor thrall opprest. 

Now blooms the lily by the bank, 
The primrose down the brae ; 

T2 



( 222 ) 

The hawthorn's budding in the glen, 

And milk-white is the slae : 
The meanest hind in fair Scotland, 

May rove their sweets amang ; 
But I, the queen of a' Scotland, 

Maun lie in prison Strang. 

I was the queen o' bonnie France 

Where happy I hae been; 
Fu' lightly rase I in the morn, 

As blythe lay down at e'en ; 
And I'm the sov'reign of Scotland, 

And mony a traitor there ; 
Yet her.- I lie in foreign bands, 

And never-ending care. 

But as for thee, thou false woman, 

My sister and my fae, 
Grim vengeance yet shall whet a sword 

That through my soul shall gae : 
The weeping blood in woman's breast 

Was never known to thee ; 
Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe 

Frae woman's pitying e'e. 

My son ! my son ! may kinder stars 

Upon thy fortune shine : 
And may those pleasures gild thy reign, 

That ne'er wad blink on mine ! 
God keep thee frae thy mother's faes, 

Gr turn their hearts to thee : 
And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend, 

R jmember him for me ! 



O ! soon, to me, may summer-suns 
:\y light up the morn! 
naair, to me, the autumn winds 
Wave o'er the vellow coru! 



( 223 ) 

And in the narrow house o' death 

Let winter round me rave ; 
And the next the flow'rs that deck the spring, 

Bloom on my peaceful grave. 



T O 



]^###*# q####* 0F ]?#*### Esq, 



ijATE crippl'd of an arm, and now a leg, 
About to beg a pass for leave to beg ; 
Dull, listless, teas'd, dejected, and deprest, 
(Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest) ; 
Will generous G***** list to his poet's wail ? 
(It soothes poor misery, hearkning to her tale), 
And hear him curse the light he first survey'd, 
And doubly curse the luckless rhyming trade. 

Thou, Nature, partial Nature, I arraign; 
Of thy caprice maternal I complain. 
The lion and the bull thy care have found, 
One shakes the forests, and one spurns the ground : 
Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail his shell, 
Th' envenom'd wasp, victorious guards his cell. — 
Thy minions, kings defend, controul, devour, 
In all th' omnipotence of rule and power. — 
Foxes and statesmen, subtile wiles ensure; 
The cit and polecat stink, and are secure, 



( 224 ) 

Toads with their poison, doctors with their drug, 
The priest and hedgehog in their robes, are snug. 
Ev'n silly woman has her warlike arts, 
Her tongue and eyes, her dreaded spear and darts. 

But Oh ! thou bitter step-mother and hard, 

To thy poor, fenceless, naked child the bard! 

A thing unteachable in world's skill, 
And half an idiot too, more helpless still. 
No heels to bear him from the op'ningdun; 
No claws to dig, his hated sight to shun; 
No horns, but those by luckless Hymen worn, 
And those, alas! not Amalthaea's horn: 
No nerves olfact'ory, Mammon's trusty cur, 
Clad in rich dulness' comfortable fur. 
In naked feeling, and in aching pride, 
He bears th' unbroken blast from ev'ry side : 
Vampyre booksellers drain him to the heart, 
And scorpion critics cureless venom dart. 

Cricies — appall'd, I venture on the name, 
Those cut-throat bandits in the path's of tame : 
Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes ; 
He hacks to teach, they mangle to expose. 

His heart by causeless wanton malice wrung, 
By blockheads daring into madness stung ; 
His well-won bays, than life itself more dear, 
By miscreants torn, who ne'er one sprig must <^ear ; 
Foil'd, bleeding, tortur'd, in th' unequal strife, 
The hapless poet flounders on thro' life*. 
Till tied each hope that once his bosom fir'd, 
And fled each muse that glorious once inspir'd, 
Low-sunk in squalid, unprotected a 
Dead, ev< o resentment, lor his injur'd page, >- 

He heeds or feels no more the ruthless critic's rage ! J 

So, by some hedge, the gen'rous steed decas'd, 
r hali-starvVl snarling curs a dainty feast; 



( 225 ) x 

By toil and famine worn to skin and bone, 
Lies, senseless of each tugging bitch's son. 

D ulness ! portion of the truly blest ! 
Calm shelter'd haven of eternal rest ! 

Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce extremes 
Of fortune's polar frost or torrid beams, 
If mantling high she fills the golden cup, 
With sober selfish ease they sip it up : 
Conscious the bounteous meed they well deserve, 
They only wonder " some folks" do not starve. 
The grave sage hern thus easy picks his frog, 
And thinks the mallard a sad worthless dog. 
When disappointment snaps the clue of hope, 
And thro' disastrous night they darkling grope, 
With deaf endurance sluggishly they bear, 
And just conclude that " fools are fortune's care/' 
So, heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks, 
Strong on the sign-post stands the stupid ox. 

Not so the idle muses' mad-cap train, 
Not such the workings of their moon-struck brain ; 
In equanimity they never dwell, 
But turns in soaring heav'n, or vaulted hell. 

1 dread thee, fate, relentless and severe, 
With all a poet's, husband's, father's fear ! 
Already one strong hold of hope is lost, 
Glencairn, the truly noble, lies in dust ; 
(Fled, like the sun eclips'd as noon appears, 
And left us darkling in a world of tears :) 
O ! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish pray'r ! 
F*****, my other stay, long bless and spare! 
Thro' a long life his hopes and wishes crown ; 
And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down ! 
May bliss domestic smooth his private path ; 
Give energy to life; and soothe his latest breath, 
With many a filial tear circling the bed of death ! 



i 



( <L86 ) 



LAMENT 



FOR 



JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN. 



A HE wind blew hollow frae the hills 

By fits the sun's departing beam 
Look'd on the fading yellow woods 

That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream : 
Beneath a craigy steep, a bard, 

Laden with years and meikle pain, 
In loud lament bewail'd his lord, 

Whom death had all untimely taen. 

He lean'd him to an ancient aik, 

Whose trunk was mould' ring down with years ; 
His locks were bleached white with time, 

His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears; 
And as he touch'd his trembling harp, 

And as he tun'd his doleful sang, 
The winds, lamenting thro' their caves, 

To echo bore the notes alang. 

" Ye scatter' d birds that faintly sing, 
" The reliques of the vernal quire! 

° Ye woods that shed on a' the winds 
" The honours of the aged year ! 



( 227 ) 

u A few short months, and glad and gay, 
" Again ye'll charm the ear and e'e ; 

" But nocht in all revolving time 
" Can gladness bring again to me. 

" I am a bending aged tree, 

" That long has stood the wind and rain; 
" But now has come a cruel blast, 

" And my last hold of earth is gane ; 
" Nae leaf o' mine shall grejst the spring, 

" Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom ; 
" But I maun lie before the storm, 

" And ithers plant them in my room. 

" I've seen sae mony changefu' years, 

M On earth I am a stranger grown ; 
" I wander in the ways of men, 

" Alike unknowing and unknown : 
" Unheard, unpitied, unreliev'd, 

" I bear alane my lade o' care, 
" For silent, low, on beds of dust, 

" Lie a' that would my sorrows share. 

" And last, (the mm of a' my griefs !) 

" My noble mister lies in clay ; 
" The flow'r amang our barons bold, 

" His country's pride, his country's stay: 
" In weary being now I pine, 

" For a' the life of life is dead, 
" And hope has left my aged ken, 

" On forward wing for ever fled, 

" Awake thy last sad voice, my harp ! 

" The voice of woe and wild despair! 
" Awake, resound thy latest lay, 

" Then sleep in silence evermair! 
" And thou, my last, best, only friend, 

" That fillest an untimely tomb, 



u 



( 228 ) 

Accept this tribute from the Bard 

" Thou brought from Fortune's mirkest gloom. 

In poverty's low barren vale, 
" Thick mists, obscure, involved me round ; 
Though oft I turnd the wistful eye, 
" Nae ray of fame was to be found : 
Thou found 'st me, like the morning sun 
" That melts the fogs in limpid air, 
The friendless Bard and rustic song, 
" Became alike thy fostering care. 

O ! why has worth so short a date ? 
" While villains ripen grey with time ! 
Must thou, the noble, gen'rous, great, 
" Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime ! 
Why did I live to see that day? 
" A day to me so full of woe ? 
O 1 had I met the mortal shaft 
" Which laid my benefactor low ! 

The bridegroom may forget the bride 
" Was made his wedded wife yestreen ; 
The monarch may forget the crown 
" That on his head an hour has been ; 
The mother may forget the child 
* That smiles sae sweetly on her knee; 
But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, 
" An' a' that thou hast done for me!" 



( 229 ) 



LINES, 



SENT TO 

Sir JOHN WHITEFORD of WHITEFORD, Bart. 

with the foregoing Poem. 



jl HOU, who thy honour as thy God rever'st, 
Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought earthly fear'st, 
To thee this votive off' ring I impart, 
The tearful tribute of a broken heart. 

The Friend thou valued'st, I the Patron lov'd ; 
His worth, his honour, all the world approv'd. 
We'll mourn till we too go as he has gone, 
And tread the dreary path to that dark world unknown. 



U 



( 230 ) 
TAM O' SHANTER: 



A 

TALE. 



Of Broxonyis and of Bogillis full is this Buke. 

GAWIN DOUGLAS. 



W HEN chapman billies leave the street, 
And drouthy neebors, neebors meet, 
As market-days are wearing late, 
An' folk begin to tak the gate ; 
While we sit bousing at the nappy, 
An' getting fou and unco happy, 
We think na on the lang Scots miles, 
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles, 
That lie between us and our hame, 
Whare sits our sulky sullen dame, 
Gathering her brows like gath'ring storm, 
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 

This truth fand honest Tarn o y Shanter, 
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter, 
(Auld Ayr wham ne'er a town surpasses, 
For honest men and bonny lasses.) 

O Tarn ! hadst thou but been sae wise, 
As ta'en thy din wife Kates advice! 
She tauld thee wee\ thou was a skellum, 

A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum; 



( 231 ) 

That frae November till October, 

Ae market-day thou was nae sober ; 

That ilka melder, wi' the miller 

Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; 

That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on, 

The smith and thee gat roaring fou on ; 

That at the L — d's house, evn on Sunday, 

Thou drank w? Kirkton Jean till Monday. 

She prophesy'd, that, late or soon, 

Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon: 

Or catch' d wi' warlocks in the mirk, 

By Allow ay s auld haunted kirk. 

Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me greet, 
To think how mony counsels sweet, 
How mony length en' d sage advices, 
The husband frae the wife despises! 

But to our tale : Ae market night, 
Tarn had got planted unco right ; 
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, 
Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely ; 
And at his elbow, Souter Johnny, 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony ; 
Tarn lo'ed him like a vera brither; 
They had been fou for weeks thegither. 
The night drave on wi' sangs an' clatter; 
And ay the ale was growing better : 
The landlady and Tarn grew gracious, 
Wi' favours, secret, sweet, and precious : 
The Souter tauld his queerest stories; 
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus : 
The storm without might rairand rustle, 
Tarn did na mind the storm a whistle. 

Care, mad to see a man sae happy, 
E'en drown d himself amang the nappy; 
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, 
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure: 



( 232 ) 

Kings may be blest, but Tarn was glorious, 
O'er a' the ills of life victorious! 

But pleasures are like poppies spread, 
You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed, 
Or like the snow falls in the river, 
A moment white then melts for ever; 
Or like the borealis race, 
That flit ere you can point their place; 
Or like the rainbow's lovely form, 
Evanishing amid the storm. — 
Nae man can tether time or tide; 
The hour approaches Tarn maun ride ; 
That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, 
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ; 
And sic a night he tacks the road in, 
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last ; 
The rattling show'rs rose on the blast ; 
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd; 
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'ch 
That night a child might understand, 
The deii had business on his hand, 

"Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg, 
A better never lifted leg, 
Tarn skelpit on thro' dub and mire, 
Despising wind, and rain, and fire; 
Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet; 
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet; 
"Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares, 
Lest bogles catch him unawares: 
Kirk-AUoicdji was drawing nigh, 
YVhciiv ghaists and houlets nightly cry. — 

By this time he was cross the ford, 
Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd ; 



( 233 ) 

And past the birks and meikle stane, 
Whare drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane ; 
And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, 
Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn; 
And near the thorn, aboon the well, 
Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel. — 
Before him Doon pours all his floods ; 
The doubling storm roars thro' the w r oods; 
The lightnings flash from pole to pole; 
Near and more near the thunders roll : 
When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, 
Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze ; 
Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing ; 
And loud resounded mirth and dancing. — 

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn ! 
What dangers thou canst make us scorn ! 
Wi' tippeny, w T e fear nae evil ; 
Wtf usquabae we'll face the devil ! — 
The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, 
Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle. 
But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd, 
Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, 
She venturM forward on the light : 
And, vow ! Tarn saw an unco sight ! 
Warlocks and witches in a dance : 
Nae cotillion brent new frae France, 
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, 
Put life and mettle in their heeis. 
A winnock-bunkerin the east, 
There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast; 
A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, 
To gie them music was his charge ; 
He screw'd the pipes, and gart them skirl, 
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. — 
Coffins stood round, like open presses, 
That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses ; 
U2 



( 234 ) 

And by some devilish cantrip slight, 
Each in its cauld hand held a light. — 
By which, heroic Tarn was able 
To note upon the haly table, 
A murderer's banes in gibbet aims ; 
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen d bairns ; 
A thief, new-cutted frae a rape, 
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ; 
Five tomahawks, wi' blude red-rusted ; 
Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted ; 
A garter, which a babe had strangled, 
A knife, a father's throat had mangled, 
Whom his ain son o' life bereft, 
The grey hairs yet stack to the heft : 
Wi' mair o' horrible and awefu', 
Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'. 

i Tammie glowr'd,amaz'd, and curious, 
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious: 
The piper loud and louder blew : 
The dancers quick and quicker flew ; 
They reelM, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit, 
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit, 
And coost her duddies to the wark, 
And linket at it in her sark ! 

Now Tarn, O Tarn ! had thae been queans, 
A' plump and strapping in their teens, 
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, 
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linnen! 
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, 
That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair, 
I wad hae gi'en them olV my hurdies, 
For ae blink o' the bonnie burdie 

But withered beldams, auld and droll, 
Rigwoodi<? hags wad spean a foal, 
Lowping an' flinging on a crummock, 
1 w r ondt;r didna turn thy stomach. 



( 235 ) 

But Tarn kend what was what fu' brawlie, 
There was ae winsome wench and wawlie. 
That night enlisted in the core, 
(Lang after kend on Carrick shore ; 
For mony a beast to dead she shot, 
And perish' d mony a bonnie boat, 
And shook baith meikle corn and bear, 
And kept the country-side in fear;) 
Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn, 
That while a lassie she had worn, 
In longitude tho sorely scanty, 
It svas her best, and she was vauntie. — 
Ah ! little kend thy reverend grannie, 
That sark she coit for her wee X annie, 
Wi' twa pund Scots, ('twas a' her riches,) 
Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches! 

But here my muse her wing maun cour; 
Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r; 
To sing how Nannie lap and flang, 
(A souple jade she was and Strang,) 
And how Ttom stood, like ane bewitch'd, 
And thought his very een enrich'd ; 
Even Satan giowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain, 
And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main : 
Till first ae caper, syne anither, 
Tan? tint his reason a' thegither, 
And roars out, H Weel done, cutty-sark !" 
And in an instant all was dark; 
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, 
When out the hellish legion sallied. 



^o A 



As bees bizz out wi 1 angry fyke, 
When plundering herds assail their byke ; 
As open pussies mortal foes, 
When, pop! she starts before their nose; 
As eager runs the market-crowd, 
When " Catch the thief!" resounds aloud; 



( 236 ) 

So Maggie runs, the witches follow, 
Wi' mony an eldritch skreech and hollow. 

Ah, Tarn ! Ah, Tarn ! thou'll get thy fairin ! 
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin! 
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin I 
Kate soon will be a Woefo* woman! 
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
And win the key-stane* of the brig ; 
There at them thou thy tail may toss, 
A running stream they dare na cross. 
But ere the key-stane she could make. 
The fient a tail she had to shake! 
For Nannie, far before the rest, 
Hard upon noble Maggie prest, 
And flew at Tarn wi* furious ettle; 
But little wist she Maggie's mettle — 
Ae spring brought oft' her master hale, 
But left behind her ain grey tail : 
The carlin claught her by the rump, 
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 

Now, wha this tale o truth shall read, 
Ilk man and mother's son, take heed ; 
Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd, 
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, 
Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear, 
! aember Tarn or Shunter's mare. 

* It is a well known fact that witches, or any evil spirits, 
have no power to follow a poor wight any farther than the 
middle of the next running stream It may be proper like- 
wise to mention to the benighted traveller, that when he falls 
in with ' batcvcr danger may be in his going forv% 
there is much more hazard in turning back. 



( 237 ) 
ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE 

LIMP BY ME, WHICH A FELLOW HAD JUST SHOT AT. 



INHUMAN man ; curse on thy barb'rous art, 
And blasted be the murder-aiming eye; 
May never pity soothe thee with a sigh, 

Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart ! 

Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field, 
The bitter little that of life remains : 
No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains 

To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. 

Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest, 
No more of rest, but now thy dying bed ! 
The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head, 

The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest. 

Oft as by winding Nith, I, musing, wait 

The sober eve, or hail the chearful dawn, 
I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, 

And curse the ruffians aim, and mourn thy hapless fate. 



( 238 ) 



A D D R E S S 

TO THE 

SHADE of THOMSON, 

On crowning his BUST, at Ednam, Roxburghshire, 

with BAYS. 



HILE virgin Spring, by Eden's flood, 
Unfolds her tender mantle green, 
Or pranks the sod in frolic mood, 
Or tunes Eolian strains between : 

While Summer with a matron grace 
Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade, 

Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace 
The progress of the spiky blade : 

While Autumn, benefactor kind, 
By Tweed erects his aged head, 

And sees, with self-approving mind, 
Each creature on his bounty fed : 

While maniac Winter rag< 3 o'er 

The hills whence classic Yarrow flows, 



( 239 ) 

Rousing the turbid torrent's roar, 

Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows : 

So long, sweet Poet of the Year, 

Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won ; 
While Scotia, with exulting tear, 

Proclaims that Thomson was her son. 



EPITAPHS. 



ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER. 

HERE Sowter **** in Death does sleep : 

To H-ll, if he's gane thither, 
Satan, gie him thy gear to keep, 

He'll haud it weel thegither. 



ON A NOISY POLEMIC. 

Below thir stanes lies Jamie' banes ; 

O Death, it's my opinion, 
Thou ne'er took such a bleth'rin b-tch 

Into thy dark dominion ! 



( 240 ) 

ON WEE JOHNNIE. 
Hie jacet wee Johnnie. 

Whoe'er thou art, O reader, know, 
That Death has murder'd Johnnie ! 

An' here his body lies fu' low 
For saul he ne'er had ony. 



FOR THE AUTHOR'S FATHER. 

O ye whose cheek the tear of pity stains, 
Draw near with pious rev'rence, and attend ! 

Here lie the loving husband's dear remains, 
The tender father, and the gen'rous friend. 

The pitying heart that felt for human woe; 

The dauntless heart that fear'd no human pride ; 
The friend of man, to vice alone a foe ; 

" For ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side*." 



FOR R. A. Esq. 

Know thou, O stranger to the fame 
Of this much lov'd, much honour'd name ! 
(For none that knew him need be told) 
A warmer heart death ne'er made cold. 

♦Goldsmith. 



( 241 ) 



FOR G. H. Esq. 



The poor man weeps — here C ■ n sleeps, 
Whom canting wretches blam'd : 

But with such as he, where'er he be, 
May I be sav'd or d d 7 



A BARD'S EPITA PH. 

IS there a whim-inspired fool, 

Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, 

Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool, 

Let him draw near ; 
And owre this grassy heap sing dool, 

And drap a tear. 

Is there a bard of rustic song, 

Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, 

That weekly this area throng, 

O, pass not by ! 
But, with a frater-feeling strong, 

Here, heave a sigh. 

Is there a man, whose judgment clear, 
Can others teach the course to steer, 
Yet runs, himself, life's mad career, 

Wild as the wave ; 
Here pause — and, through the starting tear, 

Survey this grave. 

The poor inhabitant below 
Was quick to learn and wise to know, 

W 



p ( 242 ) 

And keenly felt the friendly glow, 
And softer flame ; 

But thoughtless follies laid him low. 

And stain'd his name ! 

Reader, attend — whether thy soul 
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, 
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole, 

In low pursuit ; 
Know, prudent, cautious, self-controid, 

Is wisdom's root. 



oy THE 



LATE CAPTAIN GROSE'S 



PEREGRINATIONS THRO SCOTLAND, 



Collecting the Antiquities of that Kingdom. 



Ax EAR, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots, 
Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groats; — 
If there's a hole in a' your coats, 

I rede you tent it : 
A chield's amang you, taking notes, 

And, faith! he'll prent it. 



( 243 ) 

If in your bounds ye chance to light 
Upon a fine, fat, fodgel wight, 
O' stature short, but genius bright, 

That's he, mark weel — 
And vow ! he has an unco slight 

O' cauk and keel, 

By some auld, houlet-haunted, biggin*, 

Or kirk deserted by its riggin, 

Its ten to ane ye 11 find him snug in 

Some eldritch part, 
Wi' deils, they say,L — d safe's! colleaguin 

At some black art. — 

Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chamer, 
Ye gipsy-gang that deal in glamor, 
And you deep-read in hell's black grammar, 

Warlocks and witches ; 
Ye'll quake at his conjuring hammer, 

Ye midnight b es. 

Its tauld he was a sodger bred, 
And ane wad rather fa'n than fled ; 
But now he's quat the spurtle-blade, 

And dog-skin wallet, 
And taen the Antiquarian trade, 

I think they call it. 

He has a fouth o' auld nick-nackets : 
Rusty aim caps and jinglin jackets,t 
Wad haud the JLothians three in tackets, 
A towmont gude ; 



* Vide his Antiquities of Scotland, 
t Vide his Treatise on Ancient Armour and Weapons, 



( 244 ) 

And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets, 
Before the flood. 

Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder ; 
Auld Tubal-Cain's fire shool and fender; 
That which distinguished the gender 

O' Balaam's ass ; 
A broom-stick o' the witch of Endor, 

Weel shod wi' brass. 

Forbye, he'll shape you afFfu' gleg 
The cut of Adam's philibeg; 
The knife that nicket Abel's craig 

He'll prove you fully, 
It was a faulding jocteleg, 

Or lang kail-gullie. — 

But wad ye see him in his glee, 
For meikle glee and fun has he, 
Then set him down, and twa or three 

Gude fellows wi' him; 
And port, O port ! shine thou a wee, 

And then ye'll see him! 

Now, by the pow'rs o' verse and prose ! 
Thou art a dainty chield, O Grose! 
Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose, 

They sair misca' thee; 
I'd take the rascal by the nose, 

Wad say, Shame fa' thee. 



( 245 ) 
T O 

MISS c*********, 

A VERY YOUNG LADY. 

Written on a blank leaf of a Book, presented to her 
by the Author. 



BEAUTEOUS rose-bud, young and gay, 

Blooming on thy early May, 

Never may'st thou, lovely flow'r, 

Chilly shrink in sleety show'r I 

Never Boreas' hoary path, 

Never Eurus' pois'nous breath, 

Never baleful stellar lights, 

Taint thee with untimely blights! 

Never, never reptile thief, 

Riot on thy virgin leaf! 

Nor even Sol too fiercely view! 

Thy bosom blushing still with dew ! 

Mayst thou long, sweet crimson gem, 
Richly deck thy native stem; 
Till some evening, sober, calm, 
Dropping dews, and breathing balm, 
While all around the woodland rings, 
And every bird thy requiem sings ; 
Thou, amid the dirgeful sound, 
Shed thy dying honours round, 
And resign to parent earth 
The loveliest form she e'er gave birth, 

W 2 



( 246 ) 



SONG. 



ZxNNA, thy charms my bosom fire, 
And waste my soul with care; 

But ah ! how bootless to admire, 
When fated to despair ! 



Yet in thy presence, lovely fair, 
To hope may be forgiv'n ; 

For sure 'twere impious to despair 
So much in sight of Heav'n. 



On reading, in a Newspaper, the Death of J 

M'L , Esq. Brother to a Young Lady, a joar- 

ticular friend of the Author's. 



b AD thy tale, thou idle page, 

And rueful thy alarms; 
Death tears the brother of her love 

From Isabella s arms. 



( 247 ) 

Sweetly deckt with pearly dew 
The morning rose may blow ; 

But cold successive moontide blasts 
May lay its beauties low. 

Fair on Isabella's morn 

The sun propitious smil'd ; 
But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds 

Succeeding hopes beguil'd. 

Fate oft tears the bosom chords 
That Nature finest strung : 

So Isabella's heart was form'd, 
And so that heart was wrung* 

Dread Omnipotence, alone, 
Can heal the wound he gave ; 

Can point the brimful grief-worn eyes 
To scenes beyond the grave. 

Virtue's blossoms there shall blow, 
And fear no withering blast ; 

There Isabella's spotless worth 
Shall happy be at last 



( 248 ) 

THE 

HUMBLE PETITION 

O F 

BRUAR TV A T E R* 

TO THE 

NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOLE. 



J\xY Lord, I know your noble ear 

Woe ne'er assails in vain : 
Embolden d thus, I beg you'll hear 

Your humble slave complain, 
How saucy Phoebus scorching beams, 

In flaming summer-pride, 
Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams, 

And drink my crystal tide. 

The lightly-jumping, glowrin trouts, 

That thro' my waters play, 
If, in their random, wanton spouts, 

They near the margin stray ; 



t Bruar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly picturesque and 
beautiful ; but their effect is much impaired by the want 01 
trees and shrubs. 



( 249 ) 

If, hapless chance ! they linger lang, 

I'm scorching up so shallow, 
They're left, the whitening stanes amang, 

In gasping death to wallow. 

Last day I grat wi' spite and teen, 

As poet B**** came by, 
That, to a bard, I should be seen 

Wi' half my channel dry : 
A panegyric rhyme, I ween, 

Even as I was he shor'd me : 
But had I in my glory been, 

He, kneeling, wad ador'd me. 

Here, foaming down the skelvy rocks, 

In twisting strength I rin: 
There, high my boiling torrent smokes, 

Wild-roaring o'er a linn : 
Enjoying large each spring and well, 

As Nature gave them me, 
I am, altho' I say't mysel, 

Worth gaun a mile to see. 

Would then my noble master please 

To grant my highest wishes, 
He'll shade my banks wi' tow'ring trees, 

And bonnie spreading bushes. 
Delighted doubly then, my Lord, 

You'll wander on my banks,. 
And listen mony a grateful bird 

Return you tuneful thanks. 

The sober laverock, warbling wild, 

Shall to the skies aspire ; 
The gowdspink, Music's gayest child, 

Shall sweetly join the choir : 
The blackbird strong, the lintwhi^ c?<??r^ 

The mavis mild and mellow : 



( 250 ) 

The robin pensive Autumn chear, 
In all her locks of yellow : 

This too, a covert shall ensure, 

To shield them from the storm ; 
And coward maukin sleep secure, 

Low in her grassy form : 
Here shall the shepherd make his seat, 

To weave his crown of flow'rs; 
Or find a sheltering safe retreat, 

From prone descending show'rs. 

And here, by sweet endearing stealth, 

Shall meet the loving pair, 
Despising worlds with all their wealth 

As empty idle care : 
The flow'rs shall vie in all their charms 

The hour of heav'n to grace, 
And birks extend their fragrant arms 

To screen the dear embrace. 



Here haply too, at vernal dawn, 

Some musing bard may stray, 
And eye the smoking, dewy lawn, 

And misty mountain, grey ; 
Or, by the reaper's nightly beam, 

Mild-chequering thro' the trees, 
Rave to my darkly-dashing stream, 

Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. 

Let lofty fires, and ashes cool, 

My lowly banks o'erspread, 
And view, deep-bending in the pool, 

Their shadows' wat'ry bed : 
Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest 

My craggy clitts adorn ; 
And, for the little songster's nest, 

The close embow'ring thorn. 



( 251 ) 

So may, old Scotia's darling hope, 

Your little angel band 
Spring, like their fathers, up to prop 

Their honour'd native land ! 
So may thro' Albion's farthest ken, 

To social flowing glasses, 
The grace be " Athole's honest men, 

u And Athole's bonnie lasses !" 



On scaring some Water-Fowl in Loch-Turit, 
A wild scene among the Hills of Oughtert-yre. 



W HY, ye tenants of the lake, 
For me your wat'ry haunt forsake? 
Tell me, fellow creatures, why 
At my presence thus you fly ? 
Why disturb your social joys, 
Parent, filial, kindred ties ? — 
Common friend to you and me, 
Nature's gifts to all are free : 
Peaceful keep your dimpling wave, 
Busy feed, or wanton lave ; 
Or, beneath the sheltering rock, 
Bide the surging billow's shock. 

Conscious, blushing for our race 
Soon, too soon, your fears I trace. 
Man your proud usurping foe, 
Would be lord of all below : 



( 252 ) 

Plumes himself in freedom's pride, 
Tyrant stern to all beside. 

The eagle, from the cliffy brow, 
Marking you his prey below, 
In his breast no pity dwells, 
Strong necessity compels. 
But, man, to whom alone is giv'n 
A ray direct from pitying Heav'n, 

Glories in his heart humane 

And creatures for his pleasures slain. 

In these savage, liquid plains, 
Only known to wand' ring swains, 
Where the mossy riv'let strays, 
For from human haunts and ways ; 
All on Nature you depend, 
And life's poor season peaceful spend. 

Or, if man's superior might 
Dare invade your native right. 
On the lofty ether borne, 
Man with all his pow'rs you scorn ; 
Swiftly seek, on clanging wings, 
Other lakes and other springs ; 
And the foe you cannot brave, 
Scorn at least to be his slave. 



Written ivith a Pencil aver the Chimney-piece, 
in the Parlour of the Inn at Kenmore, Tay- 
moutil 



JHLDMIRING Nature in her wildest grace, 
These northern scenes with weary feet I trace ; 



( 253 ) 

O'er many a winding dale and painful steep, 
Th' abodes of covey' d grouse and timid sheep, 
My savage journey, curious I pursue, 
Till fam'd Breadalbane opens to my view. — 
The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides, 
The woods, wild-scatter'd, clothe their ample sides, 
Th' outstretching lake, imbosomed 'mong the hills, 
The eye with wonder and amazement fills ; 
The Tay meand'ring sweet in infant pride, 
The palace rising on his verdant side ; 
The lawns wood-fring'd in Nature's native taste ; 
The hillocks dropt in Nature's careless haste ; 
The arches striding o'er the new-born stream; 

The village glittering in the noontide beam — 

****** 

Poetic ardors in my bosom swell, 

Lone wand' ring by the hermit's mossy cell : 

The sweeping theatre of hanging woods ; 

Th' incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods — 
* * * £ * # % 

Here poesy might wake her heav'n taught lyre, 
And look through Nature with creative fire ; 
Here, to the wrongs of Fate half reconcil'd, 
Misfortune's lighten' d steps might wander wild ; 
And disappointment, in these lonely bounds, 
Find balm to soothe her bitter rankling wounds: 
Here heart-struck grief, might heav'nward stretch her 

scan, 
And injur'd worth forget and pardon man. 



X 



( 254 ) 



Written with a Pencil, standing by the Fallo/ 
Fyers, near Loch-Ness. 



XjLMONG the heathy hills and ragged woods 

The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods ; 

Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds, 

Where, thro' a shapeless breach, his stream resounds. 

As high in air the bursting torrents flow, 

As deep recoiling surges foam below, 

Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends, 

And viewless Echo's ear, astonished, rends. 

Dim-seen, through rising mists and ceaseless show'rs, 

The hoary cavern, wide-surrounding, low'rs. 

Still thro' the gap the struggling river toils, 

And still, below, the horrid caldron boils 



ON THE 



Birth of a Posthumous Child, born in peculiar 
Circumstances of Family-Distress. 



)WEET flow' ret, pledge o' meikle love, 
And ward o mony a prayer, 



( 255 ) 

What heart o* stane wad thou na move, 
Saehelpless, sweet, and fair. 

November hirples o'er the lea, 

Chill, on thy lovely form ; 
And gane, alas ! the shelf ring tree^ 

Should shield thee frae the storm. 

May He who gives the rain to pour, 
And wings the blast to blaw, 

Protect thee frae the driving show'r, 
The bitter frost and snaw. 

May He, the friend of woe and want, 
Who heals life's various stounds, 

Protect and guard the mother plant, 
And heal her cruel wounds. 

But late she flourish' d, rooted fast, 

Fair on the summer morn : 
Now, feebly bends sh% jn the blast, 

Unsheltered and forlorn. 

Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem, 

Unscath'd by ruffian hand ! 
And from thee many a parent stem 

Arise to deck our land. 



( 256 ) 



THE WHISTLE 



A BALLAD. 






As the authentic prose history of the Whistle is cu- 
rious, I shall here give it — In the train of Anne of 
Denmark, when she came to Scotland with our 
James the VI. there came over also a Danish gentle- 
man of gigantic stature and great prowess, and a 
matchless champion of Bacchus. He had a little 
ony Whistle, which, at the commencement of the 
;, he laid en the table; m\d whoever was last 
able to blow it, every body else being disabled by the 
f the bottle, was to cany off the Whistle 
opby of victory. — The Dane produced creden- 
ads of his victories, without a single defeat, at the 
courts of Copenhagen, Stockholm, Moscow, War- 
saw, and several of the petty courts in Germany ; 
and challenged the Scots Bachanalians to the alter- 
native of trying his prowess, or else of acknowledg- 
ing their inferiority. — After many overthrows on the 
part of the Scots, the Dane was encountered by Sir 
Robert Lowrie of Maxwelton, ancestor to the pre- 
it worthy baronet of that name ; who, after three 
vs and three nights, hard contest, left the Scandi- 
navian under the table, 

" t lie IV i requiem shrill" 



( 257 ) 

Sir Walter, son of Sir Robert before mentioned, after- 
wards lost the Whistle to Walter Riddel of Glenrid- 
del who had married a sister of Sir Walter s. — On 
Friday the 16th of October 1790, at Friars-Carse, 
the Whistle was once more contended for, as related 
in the Ballad, by the present Sir Robert Lowrie of 
Maxwelton ; Robert Riddel, Esq. of Glenriddel, li- 
neal descendant and representative of Walter Riddel, 
who won the Whistle, and in whose family it had 
continued; and Alexander Ferguson, Esq. of Craig- 
darroch, likewise descended of the great Sir Robert; 
which last gentleman carried off the hard-won ho- 
nours of the field. 

I SING of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth, 
I sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North, 
Was brought to the court of our good Scottish 'king, 
And long with this Whistle all Scotland shall ring. 

Old Loda*, still rueing the arm of Fingal, 
The god of the bottle sends down from his hall — 
M This Whistle's your challenge, to Scotland get o'er, 
" And drink them to hell, Sir ! or ne'er see me more 1" 

Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell, 
What champions ventur'd, what champions fell ; 
The son of great Loda was conqueror still, 
And blew on the Whistle his requiem shrill. 

Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn and the Scaur, 
Unmatch'd at the bottle, unconquer'd in war, 
He drank his poor god-ship as deep as the sea, 
No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he. 



* See Ossian's Caric-thura. 



( 258 ) 

Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has gain'd, 
Which now in his house has for ages remain 'd; 
Till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood, 
The jovial contest again have renew'd. 

Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of flaw ; 
Craigdarroch, so famous* for wit, worth, and law ; 
And trusty Glenriddel, so skill'd in old coins ; 
And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines. 

Craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil, 
Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil ; 
Or else he would muster the heads of the clan, 
And once more, in claret, try which was the man. 

u By the gods of the ancients !" Glenriddel replies, 
" Before I surrender so glorious a prize, 
" I'll conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More*, 
u And bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er." 

Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech would pretend, 
But he ne'er turned his back on his foe — or his friend, 
Said, toss down the Whistle, the prize of the field, 
And, knee-deep in claret, he'd die or he'd yield. 

To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair, 

So noted for drowning of sorrow and care ; 

But for wine and for welcome not more known to 

fame, 
Than the sense, wit, and taste of a sweet lovely dame. 

A bar.: lected to witness the fray, 

And tell future ages the feats of the day; 
A bard who detested all sadness and spleen, 
And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard had been. 



* Sec Johnson's Tour to the Hebrides. 



( 259 ) 

The dinner being over, the claret they ply, 
And ev'ry new cork is a new spring of joy ; 
In the bands of old friendship and kindred so set, 
And the bands grew the tighter the more they were 
wet. 

Gay pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er ; 
Bright Phoebus ne'er witness' d so joyous a core, 
And vow'd that to leave them he was quite forlorn, 
Till Cynthia hinted he'd see them next morn. 

Six bottles a piece had well wore out the night, 
When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight, 
Turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of red, 
And" swore 'twas the way that their ancestor did. 

Then worthy Glenriddel, so cautious and sage, 
No longer the warfare, ungodly would wage! 
A high ruling elder to wallow in wine ! 
He left the foul business to folks less divine. 

The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end ; 
But who can with fate and quart bumpers contend ? 
Though fate said, — a hero should perish in light ; 
So uprose bright Phoebus — and down fell the knight. 

Next uprose our bard, like a prophet in drink : — 
K Craigdarroch, thou'lt soar when creation shall sink ! 
" But if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme, 
" Come — one bottle more— and have at the sublime ! 

" Thy line, that have struggled for freedom with 

Bruce, 
" Shall heroes and patriots ever produce : 
" So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay ; 
" The field thou hast won, by yon bright god of day !" 



( 260 ) 



THE JOLLY BEGGARS: 

A CANTATA. 



RECITATIVO. 



W HEN lyart leaves bestrow the yird, 
Or wavering like the * Bauckie-bird, 

Bedim cauld Boreas' blast ; 
When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte, 
And infant frosts begin to bite, 
In hoary cranreuch drest ; 
Ae night at e'en a merry core 
O' randie, gangrel bodies, 
In Poosie-Nansie's held the splore, 
To drink their orra duddies : 
Wi' quaffing and laughing, 

They ranted and they sang ; 
Wi' jumping and thumping, 
The vera girdle rang. 

First neist the fire in auld red rags, 
Ane sat, weel brac'd wi' mealy bags, 

And knapsack a* in order ! 
His doxy lay within his arm, 
Wi' usquebae an* blankets warm, 

She blinkit on her sodger : 

* The old Scotch name for the Bat. 



( 261 ) 

An ay he gies the iozie drab 
The tither skelpin kiss, 
While she held up her greedy gab 
Just like an aumos dish. 

Ilk smack still, did crack still, 

Just like a cadger's whip, 
Then staggering and swaggering 
He roar'd this ditty up — 

AIR. 

Tune — Soldier's Joy. 



I am a son of Mars who have been in many wars, 
And show my cuts and scars wherever I come ; 
This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench, 
When welcoming the French at the sound of the 
drum. Lai de daudle, &c. 

II. 

My prenticeship I past where my leader breath'd his 

last, 
When the bloody die was cast on the heights of 

Abram ; 
I served out my trade when the gallant game w r as 

play'd 
And the Moro low w r as laid at the sound of the drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

III. 

I lastly was with Curtis among the floating batteries, 
And there I left for witness an arm and a limb ! 



( 262 ) 

Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me, 
I'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of a drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 



IV. 

And now tho' I must beg with a wooden arm and leg, 
And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bum, 
Pm as happy with my wallet, my bottle and my callet, 
As when I us'd in scarlet to follow a drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 



V. 

What tho' with hoary locks, I must stand the winter 

shocks, 
Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home, 
When the tother bag I sell, and the tother bottle tell, 
I could meet a troop of hell, at the sound of the drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 



RECITATIVO. 

He ended ; and the kebars sheuk, 

Aboon the chorus roar ; 
While frighted rattons backward leuk, 

And seek the benmost bore ; 
A fairy fiddler frae the neuk, 

He skirl'd out encore! 
But up arose the martial chuck, 

And laid the loud uproar. 



( 263 ) 



AIR. 



Tune — Soldier Laddie. 



I once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when, 
And still my delight is in proper young men ; 
Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie, 
No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lai de lal, &c. 

II. 

The first of mv loves was a swaggering blade, . 
To rattle the thundering drum was his trade ; 
His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy, 
Transported I was with my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

III. 

But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch, 
The sword I forsook for the sake of the church ; 
He ventur'd the soul, and I risked the body, 
'Twas then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

. IV. 

Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot, 
The regiment at large for a husband I got ; 
From the gilded spontoon to the life I was ready, 
I ask'd no more but a sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 



( 264 ) 



But the peace it reduc'd me to beg in despair, 
Till I met my old boy at a Cunningham fair ; 
His rags regimental they flutter' d so gaudy, 
My heart it rejoic'd at my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lai de lal, &c. 

VI. 

And now I have liv'd — I know not how long, 

And still I can join in a cup or a song ; 

But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady, 

Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

Then niest outspak a raucle carlin, 
Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterling, 
For mony pursie she had hooked, 
And had in mony a well been ducked. 
Her dove had been a Highland laddie, 
But weary fa' the waefu' woodie ! 
Wi' sighs and sobs she thus began 
To wail her braw John Highlandman. 



AIR. 



Tune — O an ye were dead gudeman. 

I. 

A Highland lad my love was born, 
The Lalland laws he held in scorn ; 



( 265 ) 

But he still was faithfu' to his clan, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 



CHORUS. 



Sing, hey my braw John Highlandman ! 
Sing, ho my braw John Highlandman ! 
There's not a lad in a the Ian' 
Was match for my John Highlandman. 



II. 



With his philibeg an' tartan plaid, 
An gude claymore down by his side, 
The ladies' hearts he did trepan, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 



III. 

We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, 
An' liv'd like lords and ladies gay ; 
For a LaHand face he feared none, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 



IV. 

They banish'd him beyond the sea, 
But ere the bud was on the tree, 
Adown my cheeks the pearls ran, 
Embracing my John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 



( 266 ) 



But, oh ! they catch'd him at the last, 
And bound him in a dungeon fast; 
My curse upon them every one, 
They've hang'd my braw John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 



VI. 

And now a widow I must mourn 
The pleasures that will ne'er return ; 
No comfort but a hearty cann, 
When I think on John Highlandman* 
Sing, hey, &c. 



RECITATIVO. 

A pigmy scraper wi' his fiddle 

Wha us'd to trysts and fairs to driddle, 

Her strappan limb and gawsy middle 

He reach'd nae higher, 
Had hol'd his heartie like a riddle, 

An' blawn't on fire. 

Wi' hand on haunch, an' upward e'e, 
He croon'd his gamut, one, two, three, 
Then in an Arioso key, 

The wee Apollo 
Set off wi' Allegretto glee 

His giga solo. 






( 267 ) 

AIR. 

Tune — Whistle owre the lave 6*4. 

I. 

Let me ryke up to dight that tear, 
An' go wi' me to be my dear, 
An' then your every care and fear 
May whistle over the lave o't. 

chorus 

I am a fiddler to my trade, 
An' a' the tunes that e'er I play'd, 
The sweetest still to wife or maid, 
Was whistle owre the lave o't 



II. 

At kirns an' weddings we'se be there, 
An' O ! sae niceiy's we will fair ; 
We'll bouse about till Daddie Care 
Sing, whistle owre the lave o't. 

I am, &c. 

III. 

Sae merrily's the banes we'll pyke, 
An' sun oursells about the dyke, 

An' at our leisure when ye like, 
We'll whistle owre the lave o't. 
I am, &c % 



( 268 ) 



IV. 

But bless me wi' your heaven o' charms, 

And while I kittle hair on thairms, 
Hunger, cauldan' a' sic harms, 

May whistle ovvre the lave o't. 
I am, &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

Her charms had struck a sturdy Caird< 

As weei as poor Gutscraper; 
He taks the fiddler by the beard, 

And draws a roosty rapier. — 
He swoor by a' was swearing worth, 

To speet him like a pliver, 
Unless he would from that time forth, 

Relinquish her for ever. 

Wi' ghastly e*e, poor tweedle-dee 

Upon his hunkers bended, 
And pray'd for grace wi' ruefu* face, 

An' so the quarrel ended. 
But tho 1 his little heart did grieve, 

When round the tinker prest her, 
II feign'd to snirtle hi his sleeve, 

When thus the Ca.rd address' d her. 

AIR. 

Tuno— Clout the Caudron. 



My bonny lass I work in brass, 
A tinker is mv station ; 



( 269 ) 

I've travell'd round all Christian ground 

In this my occupation. 
I've ta'en the gold, I've been enroll'd 

In many a noble squadron ; 
But vain they search'd, when off I march'd 

To go and clout the caudron. 

I've ta'en the gold, &c. 



II. 



Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp, 

Wi' a' his noise and caprin, 
An' tak' a share wi' those that bear 

The budget an' the apron. 
An' by that stowpi my faith an' houpe s 

An' by that dear* Keilbaigie, 
If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant, 

May I ne'er weet my craigie. 

An' by that stowp, &c, 



RECITATIVO. 

The Caird prevail' d — th' unblushing fair 

In his embraces sunk, 
Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair, 

An' partly she was drunk. 
Sir Violino with an air, 

That show'd a man of spunk, 
Wish'd unison between the pair, 

An' made the bottle clunk 

To their health that night. 

* A peculiar sort of Whisky so called ; a great favourite 
with Poosie-Nansie's clubs. 

Y 2 



( 270 ) 

But hurchin Cupid shot a shaft 

That play'd a dame a shavie, 
The fiddler rak'd her fore and aft, 

Bthint the chicken cavie. 
Her lord, a wight o' * Homer's craft, 

Tho' limping wi' the spavie, 
He hirpl'd up, and lap like daft, 

An' shor'd them Dainty Daivie 

O boot that night. 

He was a care-defying blade, 

As ever Bacchus listed, 
Tho' Fortune sair upon him laid, 

His heart she ever miss'd it. 
He had no wish but — to be glad, 

Nor want but — when he thirsted; 
He hated nought but — to be sad, 

And thus the muse suggested 

His sang that night. 

AIR. 

Tune— —For a that, an' a' that. 
I. 

I am a bard of no regard, 

Wi' gentle folks, an' a that; 
But Homer-like, the glowran byke, 

Frae town to town I draw that. 

chorus. 

For a' that, an' a' that, 

An' twice as muckle's a' that; 
Fve lost but ane, I've twa behin', 

I've wife enough for a* that. 

* Homer is allowed to be the oldest ballad singer ojq record. 



( 271 ) 
II. 

never drank the Muses* stank, 
Castalia's burn, an* a' that; 
But there it streams, and richly reams, 
My Helicon I ca* that. 

For a' that, &c. 

III. 

Great love I bear to a' the fair, 
Their humble slave, an* a* thatr 

But lordly will, I hold it still 
A mortal sin to thraw that. 

For a' that, &c» 

IV. 

In raptures sweet, this hour we meet 
Wi' mutual love, an' a' that: 

But for how lang the fiie may stang 9 
Let inclination law that. 

For a' that, &c* 



V. 



Their tricks and craft have put me daft, 
They've ta'en me in, an' a' that; 

But clear your decks, an' here's the sex ! 
I like the jads for a' that. 

For a* that, an* a' that, 

An' twice as muckle's a* that; 

My dearest bluid, to do them guid, 
They're welcome till't for a' that. 



( 272 ) 



RECITATIVO. 

So sung the bard — and Nansie's wa's 
Shook with a thunder of applause, 

Re-echo' d from each mouth; 
They toom'd their pocks, and pawn'd their duds, 
They scarcely left to coor their iuds, 

To quench their lowan drouth. 

Then owre again, the jovial thrang, 

The poet did request, 
To lowse his pack an' wale a sang, 
A ballad o' the best: 
He rising, rejoicing 

Between his twa Deborahs, 
Looks round him, an' found them 
Impatient for the chorus. 



AIR. 

Tune Jolly Mortals Jill your Glasses 



See ! the smoking bowl before us, 
Mark our jovial ragged ring! 

Round and round take up the chorus, 
And in raptures let us sing. 

C II O R U S. 

A fig for those by law protected ! 

eriy'a a glorious feast! 
Courts for cowards were erected, 
Churches built to please the priest. 



( 273 ) 

II. 

What is title? what is treasure? 

What is reputation's care? 
If we lead a life of pleasure, 

'Tis no matter how or ichere I 

A fig, &c. 

III. 

With the ready trick and fable, 
Round we wander all the day; 

And at night, in barn or stable, 
Hug our doxies on the hay. 

A fig, &c. 



IV 



Does the train-attended carriage, 
Through the country lighter rove ? 

Does the sober bed of marriage 
Witness brighter scenes of love ? 

A fig, &c. 

V. 

Life is all a varwrum, 

We regard not how it goes ; 

Let them cant about decorum, 
Who have characters to lose. 

A fig, &c 

VI. 

Here's to budgets, bags ar.d wallets! 

Here's to aU the waud'ring train! 
Here's our ragged brats and collets/ 

One and all cry out, Amen 1 



( 274 ) 

A fig for those by law protected ! 

Liberty's a glorious feast ! 
Courts for cowards were erected, 

Churches built to please the priest. 



THE 



KIRK'S ALARM:* 



A SATIRE. 



Oi 



'RTHODOX, orthodox, wha believe in John Knox, 
Let me sound an alarm to your conscience ; 
There's a heretic blast has been blawn i' the wast, 
That what is no sense must be nonsense. 



Dr. Macf, Dr. Mac, you should stretch on a rack, 

To strike evil doers vvi* terror ; 
To join faith and sense upon ony pretence, 

Is heretic, damnable error. 

Town of Ayr, town of Ayr, it was mad I declare, 

To meddle wi' mischief a-bre wing ; 
Provost John is still deaf to the church's relief, 

And orator Bob § is its ruin. 

* This Poem was written a short time after the publication 
of Dr. M'Gill's Essay. 

t Dr. M' 11. § R 1 A n. 



( 275 ) 

Drymple mild*, Drymple mild, tho' your hearts like 
a child, 

And your life like the new driven snaw, 
Yet that winna save ye, auld Satan must have ye, 

For preaching that three's ane and twa. 

Rumble JohnU, Rumble John, mount the steps wi' a 
groan, 

Cry the book is wi' heresy cramm'd ; 
Then lug out your ladle, deal brimstone like adle, 

And roar every note of the damn'd. 

Simper JamesJ, Simper James, leave the fair Killie 
dames, 

There's a holier chace in your view ; 
I'll lay on your head, that the pack ye' 11 soon lead, 

For puppies lik« you there's but few. 

Singet Sawneyf, Singet Sawney, are ye herding the 
penny, 

Unconscious what evils await ; 
Wi' a jump, yell and howl, alarm every soul, 

For the foul thief is just at your gate. 

Daddy Auldji, Daddy x\uld, there's a tod in the fauld, 

A tod meiklewaur thau the Clerk; 
Tho' ye can do little skaith, ye'll be in at the death. 

And gif ye canna bite, ye may bark. 

Davie Bluster§, Davie Bluster, if for a saint ye do 
muster, 

The corps is so nice of recruits ; 
Yet to worth let's be just, royal blood you might boast, 

If the ass was the king of the brutes. 



*o 



* Dr. D e. % Mr. R II. J Mr. M< f\ 

f Mr. M y. || Mr. A d. § Mr. G , O , 



( 276 ) 

Jamy Goosell, Jamy Goose, ye ha'e made but toom 
roose, 

In hunting the wicked Lieutenant ; 
But the Doctor's your mark, for the L — d's haly ark, 

He has cooper'd and ca'd a wrang pin in't. 

Poet Willie§, Poet Willie, gi' the Doctor a volly, 
Wi' your liberty's chain and your wit ; 

O'er Pegasus* side ye ne'er laid astride, 

Ye but smelt, man, the place where he s—t 

Andro Gouk||, Andro Gouk, ye may slander the book, 
And the book not the waur let me tell ye ; 

Ye are rich, and look big, but lay by hat and w T ig, 
And ye'li ha'e a calf's head o' sma' value. 

Barr Steennief, Barr Steennie, what mean ye ? what 
mean ye ? 

If ye'll meddle nai mair wi' the matter, 
Ye may hae some pretence to bavins and sense, 

Wi' people wha ken ye nae better. 

Irvide sidej, Irvine side, wi' your turkey-cock pride, 

Of manhood but sma' is your share; 
Ye ve the tigure, 'tis true, ev'n your faes will allow, 

And your friends they dare grant you nae mair. 

Muirland Jock;|, Muirland Jock, when the L — d makes 
a rock, 

To crush common sense for her sins, 
If i:l manners were wit, there's no mortal so fit 

To confound the poor Doctor at ance. 



f Mr. Y g, C k. § Mr. P s, A— r. || Dr. A. 

M 11. t Mr. S n Y , B_r. J Mr. S h, 

G n. U Mr. S d. 






( 277 ) 

Holy Will,|| Holy Will, there was wit i' your skull, 
When ye pilfer'd the alms o' the poor; 

The timmer is scant, when ye' re ta'en for a saint, 
Wha should swing in a rape for an hour. 

Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons, seize your sp' ritual guns, 

Ammunition you never can need ; 
Your hearts are the stuff, will be powther enough, 

And your skulls are storehouses o' lead. 

Poet Burns, Poet Burns, wi' your priest-skelping turns, 
^ Why desert ye your auld native shire ; 
Your muse is a gipsie, e'en tho' she were tipsie # 
She cou'd ca' us nae waur than we are. 



S O N G, 



Written and swig at a General Meeting of the Excise- 
Officers in Scotland. 



i HE de'il cam' fiddling thro' the town, 
And danc'd awa' wi' the Exciseman ; 
And ilk auld wife cry'd, " Auld Mahoun, 
M We wish you luck o' the prize man. 



I 



( 278 ) 

CHORUS. 

" We'll mak' our maut, and brew our drink, 
u We'll dance and sing and rejc ice man ; 
u And mony thanks to the muckle black de'il, 
" That danc'd awa' wi' the Exciseman. 

It 

u There's threesome reels, and foursome reels, 

u There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man; 

* But the ae best dance e'er cam' to our Ian', 

u Was the deil's awa' wi' the Exciseman, 

CHORUS. 

" We'll mak' our maut, &c. 



THE 

TWA HERDSt- 



kJ A' ye pious godly flocks, 
Weel fed on pastures orthodox, 
Wha now will keep you frae the fox, 
Or worrying tykes, 

f This piece was among the first of our Author's produc- 
tions which he submitted to the public ; and was occasioned 
by a dispute between two Clergymen, near Kilmarnock. 



( 279 ) 

Or wha will tent the waifs and crocks, 
About the dykes. 

The twa best herds in a' the wast, 
That e'er ga'e gospel horn a blast, 
These five and twenty summers past, 

O ! dool to tell, 
Ha'e had a bitter black out-cast 

Atween themsel. 

O, M y, man, and wordy R 11, 

How could you raise so vile a bustle, 
Ye'll see how new-light herds will whistle, 

And think it fine ! 
The Lord's cause ne'er gat sic a twisle, 
Sin' I ha'e min. 

O, sirs ! whae'er w T ad ha'e expekit, 

Your duty ye wad sae neglekit, 

Ye wha were ne'er by lairds respekit, 

To wear the plaid, 
But by the brutes themselves elekit, 

To be their guide. 

What flock wi' M y's flock could rank, 

Sae hale and hearty every shank, 
Nae poison'd soor Arminian stank, 

He let them taste, 
Frae Calvin's well, ay clear they drank, 

O' sic a feast! 

The thummart, willcat, brock and tod, 
Weel kend his voice thro' a' the wood, 
He smelFd their ilka hole and road, 

Baith out and in, 
And weel he lik'd to shed their bluid, 

Ani sell their skin. 



( 280 ) 

What herd like R— 11 tell'd his tale, 
His voire was heard thro' muir and dale, 
He ken'd the Lord's sheep ilka tail, 

O'er a the height, 
And saw gin they were sick or hale, 

At the first sight. 

He fine a mangy sheep could scrub, 

Or nobly fling the gospel club, 

And new-light herds could nicely drub, 

Or pay their skin, 
Could shake them o'er the burning dub, 

Or heave them in. 

Sic twa, O ! do I live to see't, 
Sic famous twa should disagreet, 
And names, like villain, hypocrite, 

Ilk ither gi'en, 
While new-light herds wi' laughin spite, 

Say niether's liein'. 

A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld, 
There's D — n deep and P — s, shaul, 
But chiefly thou, apostle A — d, 

We trust in thee, 
That thou wilt work them, hot and cauld, 

Till they agree. 

Consider, Sirs, how we're beset, 
There's scarce a new herd that we get, 
But comes frae 'mang that cursed set, 

I winna name, 
I hope frae heav'n to see them yet 

In fiery flame. 

D e ha^ been lang our fae, 

M' 11 has wrought us meikle wac, 

And that cursed rascal ca'd M* — e, 



( 281 ) 

And baith the S — s, 
That aft ha'e made us black and blae, 
Wi' vengefu' paws. 

Auld W — w lang has hatch'd mischief, 
We thought ay death wad bring relief, 
But he has gotten to our grief, 

Ane to succeed him, 
A chield wha' 11 soundly buff our beef; 

I meikle dread him. 

And mony a ane that I could tell, 
Wha fain would openly rebel, 
Forby turn-coats amang oursel, 

There's S — h for ane, 
I doubt he's but a grey nick quill, 

And that ye'li fin'. 

O ! a' ye flocks, o'er a' the hills, 

By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells, 

Come join your counsel and your skills, 

To cow the lairds. 
And get the brutes the power themsells, 

To choose their herds. 

Then orthodoxy yet may prance, 
And learning in a woody dance, 
And that fell cur ca'd common sense, 

That bites sae sair, 
Be banish' d o'er the sea to France, 

Let him bark there. 

Then Shaw's and Dalrym pie's eloquence, 
M' — ll's close nervous excellence, 
M'Q — e's pathetic manly sense, 

And guid M<— h. 
Wi 1 S — th wha thro' the heart can glance. 
May a' pack aff. 
Z2 



( 282 ) 



HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER. 



U THOU, wha in the heavens dost dwell, 
Wha, as it pleases best thysel', 
Sends ane to heaven and ten to hell, 

A' for thy glory, 
And no for ony guid or ill 

They've done afore thee ! 



I bless and praise thy matchless might, 
Whan thousands thou hast left in night, 
That I am here afore thy sight, 

For gifts an' grace, 
A burnin' an' a shinin' light, 

To a' this place* 

What was I, or my generation, 
That I should get such exaltation, 
I wha deserve sic just damnation, 

For broken laws, 
Five thousand years 'fore my creation, 

Thro' Adam's cause. 

When frae my mither's womb I fell, 
Thou might hae plunged me in hell, 
To gnash my gums, to weep and wail, 

In burnin lake, 
Whar damned devils roar and yell, 

Chain'd to a stake. 



( 283 ) 

Yet I am here a chosen sample, 

To show thy grace is great an' ample ; 

I'm here a pillar in thy temple, 

Strong as a rock, 
A guide, a buckler, an' example 

To a' thy flock. 

But yet, O L — d ! confess I must, 
At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust, 
An' sometimes too, wi' warldly trust 

Vile self gets in; 
But thou remembers we are dust, 

Defil'd in sin. 

O L — d ! yestreen, thou kens, w T i' Meg, 

Thy pardon I sincerely beg, 

O ! may it ne'er be a livin' plague, 

To my dishonour, 
An' I'll ne'er lift a lawless 1-g 

Again upon her. 

Besides, I farther maun allow, 
Wi' Lizie's lass, three times I trow ; 
But, L — d, that Friday I was fou', 

When I came near her, 
Or else, thou kens, thy servant true 

Wad ne'er ha'e steer'd her. 

Maybe thou lets this fleshly thorn, 

Beset thy servant e'en and morn, 

Lest he owre high and proud shou'd turn, 

'Cause he' sae gifted ; 
If sae, thy han' maun e'en be born, 

Until thou lift it. 

L — d bless thy chosen in this place, 
For here thou hast a chosen race ; 



( 284 ) 

But G — d confound their stubborn face, 
And blast their name, 

Wha bring thy elders to disgrace, 
An public shame. 

L — d mind G n H n's deserts, 

He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at carts, 
Yet has sae mony takin arts, 

Wi' grit an' sma', 
Frae G — d's an' priests the people's hearts 

He steals awa'. 

An' whan we chasten' d him therefore, 
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore, 
As set the warld in a roar 

O' laughin' at us; 
Curse thou his basket and his store, 

Kail an' potatoes. 

L — d hear my earnest cry an pray'r, 

Against that presbyt'ry o' Ayr ; 

Thy strong right hand, L — d make it bare, 

Upo' their heads, 
L — d weigh it down, and dinna spare, 

For their misdeeds. 

O L — d my G-d, that glib-tongu'd A — n, 

My very heart an' saul are quakin', 

To think how we stood sweatin', shakin', 

An' pi — d wi' dread, 
While he wi' btrtgin' lips and snakin', 

Held up his head. 

L — d in the day of vengeance try him, 
L — d visit them wha did employ him, 
And' pass not in thy mercy by 'em, 

Nor hear their pray'r; 



( 285 ) 

But for thy people's sake destroy 'em, 
And dinna spare. 

But L — d remember me and mine, 
Wi 5 mercies temp'ral and divine, 
That I for gear and grace may shine, 

Excelled by nane; 
An' a' the glory shall be thine, 

Amen, Amen. 



THE INVENTORY. 

In answer to a Mandate by the Surveyor of the Taxes. 



{This Poem has been printed in the Liverpool edU 
tion, but is here given with additions from a manu- 
script of the Author. The lines added are printed in 
Italics.] 



OlR, as your mandate did request, 
I send you here a faitbfu' list, 
O' gudes an' gear, an' a' my graith, 
To which I'm clear to gi'e my aith. 

Imprimis then, for carriage cattle, 
I have four brutes o' gallant mettle, 
As ever drew afore a pet tie. 



( 286 ) 

My * LarC afore 9 % a gude auld has been, 

An' wight an' wilfu' a' his days been. 

My f Lan 9 ahin 9 s a weel gaun fillie, 

That aft has borne me harne frae Killie J, 

And your auld burrough mony a time, 

In days when riding was aae crime^- 

But ance whan in my wooing pride 

I like a blockhead boost to ride, 

The wilfu 9 creature sae I pat to, 

(L — d pardon a' my sins an' that to ! ) 

I play d my fillie sic a shavie, 

She's a' bedevil 9 d wi 9 the spavie. 

My || Furr ahhis a wordy beast, 

As e'er in tug or tow was trac'd.— 

The fourth's a Highland Donald hastie, 

A d — n'd red-wud Kilburnie blastie ; 

Foreby a Cowt, o 9 Cowfs the wale, 

As ever ran afore a tail. 

If he be spar'd to be a beast, 

He'll draw me fifteen pun' at least. — 

Wheel carriages I ha'e but few, 

Three carts, an twa are feckly new : 

Ae auld wheelbarrow, mair for token, 

Ae leg an' baith the trams are broken ; 

I made a poker o' the spin'le, 

An' my auld mother brunt the trin'le.— • 

For men, I've three mischievous boys, 

Run deils for ran tin and for noise ; 

A gaudsman ane, a thrasher t'other, 

Wee Davock bauds the nowt in fother. 



* The fore horse on the left-hand in the plough, 
f The hindmost on the left-hand in the plough. 
% Kilmarnock. 

II The hindmost horse on the right-hand in the plough. 



( 237 ) 

I rule them as I ought, discreetly, 

An aften labour them compleatly. 

An' ay on Sundays duly nightly, 

I on the questions targe them tightly ; 

Till faith, wee Davock's turn sae gleg, 

Tho' scarcely langer than your leg, 

He'll screed you aff Effectual Calling, 

As fast as ony in the dwalling. — 

I've nane in female servan' station, 

(L — d keep me ay frae a' temptation!) 

I ha e nae wife : and that my bliss is, 

An' ye have laid nae tax on misses ; 

An' then if kirk folks dinna clutch me, 

I ken the devils dare na touch me. 

Wi' weans I'm mair than weel contented, 

Heav'n sent me ane mae than I wanted 

My sonsie sinking dear-bought Bess, 

She stares the daddy in her face, 

Enough of ought ye like but grace : 

But her, my bonnie sweet wee lady, 

I've paid enough for her already, 

An' gin ye tax her or her mither, 

B' the L — d ! ye'se get them a' thegither 

And now, remember Mr. A-k-n, 
Nae kind of licence out I'm takin' ; 
Frae this time forth, I do declare, 
Fse ne'er ride horse nor hizzie mair ; 
Thro' dirt and dub for life I'll paidle, 
Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle ; 
My travel a' on foot I'll shank it, 
I've sturdy bearers, Gude be thankit — 

The Kirk and you may tak y you that, 
It puts but little in your pat ; 
Sae dinna put we in your huke, 
Nor for my ten white shillings hike. 



} 



( 288 ) 

This list wi' my ain han* I wrote it, 
Day an' date as under notit, 
Then know all ye whom it concerns, 
Subscripsi huic, robert burns. 

Mossgiel, February 22d, 1786. 



EPITAPH 



ON A 



WAG IN MAUCHLINE. 



JLiAMENT 'im Mauchline husbands a\ 

He aften did assist ye ; 
For had ye staid whole weeks awa', 

Your wives they ne'er had miss'd ye. 

Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye pass 
To school in bands thegither, 

O tread ye lightly on his grass, 
Perhaps he was your father. 



( 289 ) 
ON MISS J. SCOTT, 

OF AYR. 

Oh ! had each Scot of ancient times, 
Been, Jeany Scott, as thou art, 
The bravest heart on English ground, 
Had yielded like a coward. 



At a meeting of the Dumfrieshire Volunteers, held to 
commemorate the anniversary of Rodney's Victory, 
(April 12th, 1782,) Burns' was called upon for a 
Song, instead of which he delivered the following 
lines extempore. 



INSTEAD of a song, boys, I'll give you a toast, 
Here's the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost; 
That we lost, did I say, nay, by Heav'n that we found, 
For their fame it shall last while the world goes round. 
The next in succession, I'll give you the King, 
Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he swing ; 
And here's the grand fabric, our free Constitution, 
As built on the base of the great Revolution ; 
And longer with Politics, not to be cramm'd, 
Be Anarchy curs'd, and be tyranny damn'd; 
And who wou'd to Liberty e'er prove disloyal, 
May his son be a hangman, and he his first trial. 

A a 



( 290 ) 

The Lass that made the bed to me : A song. 

W HEN January winds were blawing cauld, 

As to the north I bent my way, 
The darksome night did me enfauld, 

I kend na where to lodge till day : 
By my good luck a lass I met, 

Just in the middle of my care, 
And kindly she did me invite, 

To walk into a chamber fair. 

I bow'd fu' low to this sam' maid, 

And thank'd her for her courtesie ; 
I bow'd fu* low to this fair maid, 

And bade her make a bed for me : 
She made the bed both large and wide, 

Wi' her twa white hands she spread it down ; 
She put the cup to her rosy lip, 

And drank, " Young man, now sleep ye sound." 

She snatch 1 d the candle in her hand, 
And frae my chamber wentwi' speed; 

But I callM her quickly back again, 

I To lay some mair beneath my head. 

A ':od she laid beneath my head, 
And served me with due respect ; 

Syne to salute her wi' a kiss, 
I flang my arms about her neck. 

" Haud aff your hands, young man/' said she, 

And dinna sae uncivil be; 
Gif ye ha'e ony hive for me, 

O wrang na my virginity! 
Her hair was like the links o' gowd, 

Her teeth were like the ivory, 
Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine, 

The lass that made the bed to me. 



( 291 ) 

I kiss'd her o'er and o'er again, 

And ay she wist na what to say ; 
I laid her 'tween me and the wa', 

The lassie thought na lang till day. 
Her bosom was the driven suaw, 

Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see, 
Her limbs the pohsh'd marble stane, 

The lass that made the bed to me. 

Upon the morrow w T hen we raise, 

Ithank'd her ior her courtesie ; 
Bat ay she sigh'd and cry'd, " Alas ! 

" Alas ! young man, ye've rain'd me." 
I look'd her in her bonny face, 

While the tear stood twinklin' in her e'e ; 
And said, Sweet lassie dinna cry, 

Ye ay shall mak' the bed to me. 

She took her mither's holland sheets, 

And made them a' in sarks to me ; 
Blythe and merry may she be, 

The lass that made the bed to me ; 
The braw lass made the bed to me, 

The bonnie lass made the bed to me, 
I'll ne'er forsake till the day I die, 

The lass that made the bed to me. 



Verses written on a window of the Inn at Carron. 

W E cam na hear to view your warks. 

In hopes to be mair wise, 
But only, lest we gang to hell, 

It may be nae surprise : 
But whan we tirl'd at your door, 

Your porter dought na hear us ; 
Sae may, shou'd we to hell's yetts come, 

Your billy Satan sair us ! 



( 292 ) 

[Written by the Poet, on seeing his favorite walks strip- 
ped of their ornament, by the rapacity of a superanu- 
ated nobleman, who, seeing himself the last of his 
race, and knowing that after his death, his possessions 
would go to a distant branch of the family, was de- 
spoiling them of then wood. The poem urns not pub- 
lished by Dr. Currie, in his edition of Burns 1 works, 
lest the influence of the person alluded to * should 
prejudice the sale of them, the profits of that edition 
being devoted to the benefit of the widow a?id chil- 
dren of the Poet. But these motives for with-holding 
them now no longer exist.'] 



J\S on the banks o' wandering Nith, 
Ae smiling simmer rnorn I stray'd, 
And trac'd its bonny howms and haughs, 
Where Unties sang, and lambkins play'd, 

I sat me down upon a craig, 
And drank my fill o' Fancy's dream; 
When from the edying deep below 
Uprose the Genius of the stream. 

Dark like the frowning rock his brow, 
And troubled like his wintry wave ; 
And, deep as sughs, the boding wind 
Among his caves, the sigh he gave. 

" And came ye here, my son, he cried. 
To wander in my birkin shade, 
To muse some favorite Scottish theme, 
Or sing some favorite Scottish maid ? 

There was a time, its nae lang syne, 
Ye might hae seen me in my pride ; 

* The Duke of Queensbuiy. 



( 293 ) 

When a' my banks sae bravely saw 
Their woody pictures in my tide ; 

When hanging beech and spreading elm 
Shaded my stream sae clear and cool, 
And stately aiks their twisted arms 
Threw broad and dark across the pool ; 

When, glinting through the trees, appeared 
That wee white cot aboon the mill, 
And peacefu' rose its ingle reek 
That slowly curled up the hill. 

But now the cot is bare and cauld, 
Its branchy shelters lost and gane, 
And scarce a stinted birk is left, 
To shiver in the blast its lane." 

" Alas! said I, what ruefu' chance 
Ha^ twin'd ye o' your stately trees? 
Has laid your rocky bosom bare ? 
Has stripp'd the cleading o' your braes? 

Was it the bitter eastling blast 

That scatters blight in early spring, 

Or was't the wilfire scorch'd their boughs? 

Or canker-worm wi' secret sting?" 

" Nae eastlin blast, the sprite replied, 
It blews nae here sae fierce and fell ; 
And on my dry and halesome banks 
Nae canker-worms get leave to dwell. 

Man! — cruel man! — the Genius sigh'd, 
As through the cliffs he sank him down, 
The worm that gnaw'd my bonny trees,' 
That reptile wears a ducal crown !" 
A a 2 



( 294 ) 



Scene. — A field of battle — time of day, evening — the 
wounded and dying of the victorious army are suppos- 
ed to join in the following 



SONG. 



l! AREWELL thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye 

skies, 

Now gay with the bright setting sun ; 
Farewell loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties, 

Our race of existence is run! 
Thou grim king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe, 

Go frighten the coward and slave ; 
Go teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! but know, 

No terrors hast thou to the brave ! 
Thou slrik'st the dull peasant, he sinks in the dark, 

>r saves e'en the wreck of a name ; 
Thou strik'st the young hero — a glorious mark ! 

He falls in the blaze of his fame ! 
In the field of proud honour — our swords in our hands, 

Our king and our country to save, 
While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands, 

O ! who would not rest with the brave ! 



( 295 ) 



GLOSSARY. 



THE ch and gb have always the guttural found. The found of the 
Englifh diphthong oo, is commonly spelled eu. The French u a found 
which often occurs in the Scottish language, is marked oo, or ui. The 
a in genuine Scottish words, except when forming a diphthong, or 
followed by an e mute after a single consonant, founds generally like 
the broad English a in zvall. The Scottish diphthong ae> always, and 
ea, very often, found like the French e masculine. The Scottish diph- 
thong ey> sounds like the Latin ei. 



A Sail 
/l Aback, away, aloof 
Abeigh, at a my diftance 
Aboon, above, up 
Abread, abroad, in fight 
Ae, one 

Aff, off; Affloof) unpremeditated 
Afore, before 
Aft, oft 
Aften, often 

Agley, off the right line, wrong 
Aiblins, peihaps 
Ain, own 
Aim, iron 
Aith, an oath 
Aits, oats 

Aiver, an old horfe 
Aizle, a hot cinder 
Akwart, awkward 
A lake, alas 
A lane, alone 
Amaist, almost 
Amang, among 
An*, and, if 
Ance, once 
Ane, one, an 
Anither, another 
Artfu\ artful 
Afe, afhes 

Afteer, abroad, ftirring 
Aught, eight, pofTeflion,as in a my 

augbt, in ail my poffeflion 
Auld, old 
Auld farran, or auld farrant, fa- 

gacious, cunning, prudent 
Ava', at all 



Awa', away, 

Awfu', awful 

Awn, the beard of barley, oats, &c. 

Awnie, bearded 

Ayoat, beyond 

BA', ball 
Backlins coming, coming 

back, returning 
Bad. did bid 
Bade, endured, did ftay 
Baggie, the belly 
Bainie. having large bones, flout 
Bairn, a child 
Bairntime, a family of children, a 

brood 
Baith, both 
Bane, bone 
Bang, an effort 
Bardie, diminutive of bard 
Barefit, barefooted 
Barket, barked 
Barkin, barking 
Barmie, of, or like barm 
Baflifu', bafhfui 
Batch, a crew, a gang 
Batts, hots 
Baudrons, a cat 
Bauk, a crofs beam ; Bauken\ the 

end of a beam 
Bauld, bold ; Baldy, boldly 
Baws'nt, having a white ftripe 

down the face 
Be, to let be, to give over, to ceafc 
Beaftie, dimin. of beaft 
Beet, to add fuel to fire 
Befa', to befall 



( 296 ) 



Behint, or behin\ behind 

Belly-fu', belly full 

Belyve, by and by 

Ben, into the /pence or parlour 

Benlomond, a noted mountain in 

Dumbartonfliire 
Beuk, a book 
Bet, be it 

Beth-inkit, the grace after meat 
Bicker, a kind of waoden di(h, a 

fhort race 
Biel. or bield, fhelter 
Bien, wealthy, plentiful 
Big, to build ; Bigget builded 
Biggen, building, a houfe 
Bill, a bull 

Billie, a brother, a young fellow 
Bing, a heap of grain, potatoes, &c. 
Birkie, a clever fellow 
Birr ng, the noife of partridges, 

&c. when they fpnng 
Bit, crifis, nick of time 
Bizz, a buttle, to buzz 
Blaftie, a (hrievelled dwarf, a term 

of contempt 
Blaftit, blurted 
Blate, bafhful, fheepifh 
Blather, bladder 
Blaud, a flat piece of any thing; 

to flap 
Blaw, ro blow, boaft 
Bleatin, bleating 
Bleezing, blazing 
Bleflin, bleflisg 

Blether, to talk idly ; nenfenfe 
Bleth'ren, talking idly 
Blink, a little while, a fmilinglook; 

to look kindly, to mine by fits 
Blinker, a term of contea;pt 
Blinkin, fmirkin 
Bluegown, one of th fe beggars 

who get annually, on the king's 

birth-d .y, a blue cloak or gown 

with a badge 
Bluid, blood ; BluiJy, bloody 
Blufht, did blufh 
Blype, a fhrcd, a large piece 
Bock, to vomit, to gum intermit- 
tently 
Bocked, gufhed, vomited 



Bodle, a fmall old coin 

Bonnie, or bonny, handfome, beau- 
tiful 

Bonnilie, handfomely, beautifully 

Bonnock, a kind of thick cake of 
bread 

Boord, a board 

Boortree, the fhrub elder, planted 
much of old in hedges of barn- 
yards, &c. 

Booft, behoved, mult needs 

Botch, an angry tumor 

Bother, to pother 

Bow-kail, cabbage 

Bow't, bended, crooked 

Brachens, fern 

Brae a declivity, a precipice, the 
flope of a hill 

Braid, broad 

I raik; a kind of harrow 

draindge, to run rafhly forward 

Braind'gt, reeled forward 

Brak, broke, made infolvcnt 

Branks, a kind of wooden curb for 
horfes 

Brafh, a fadden illnefs 

Brats, coarfe cloaths, rags 

Brattle, a fhort race, hurry, fury 

Braw, fine, handfome 

Brawly, or brawlie, very well, 
finely, heartily 

Bra n nie, flout, brawny 

Braxie, a morkin fheep, &c. 

Breakin, breaking 

Bread ie, dim in. of breaft 

Breaftit, did fpring up or forward 

Breathin, breathing 

Breef, an invulnerable or irrefift- 
ible fpell 

Breeks, breeches 

Brewin, brewing 

Brie, juice, liquid 

Brig, a bridge 

Brifket, the breaft, the bofom 

Brither, a brother 

Brogue, a hum, a trick 

Broo, broth, liquid, water 

Brooie,a race at country weddings, 
who fhall firit reach the bride- 



groom's houfe, on returning from 

church 
Brugh, a burgh 
BruiJzie, a broil, a combuftion 
Brunflane, brimftone 
Brunt, did burn 
Bruft, to hurft 

Buckfkin, an inhabitant of Virginia 
Buirdly, ftout-made, broad-built 
Bum- clock, a humming beetle that 

flies in the fummer evenings 
Bumniin, humming as bees 
Bummler, a blunderer 
Bummlin, to blunder 
Bure, did bear 
Burn, water, a rivulet 
Burnewin, ;'. e. burn the ivind, a 

blackfmith 
Burnie, dimin. of burn 
Bufkit, drefTed 
Bufle, a buftle ; to buflle 
But, without 
But an' ben, the country kitchen 

and parlour 
By bimfelf, lunatic, diftracted 
Byre, a cow-ftable 

(T^A', to call, to name, to drive 
J. Cadger, a carrier 
Cadie, or caddie, a perfen, a young 

fellow 
Caff, chaff 
Caird, a tinker 
Cairn, a loofe heap of ftones 
Calf-ward, a fmall inclofure for 

calves 
Callan, a boy 
Caller, frefh, found 
Cam, did come 
Canna, cannot 

Cannie, gentle, mild, dextrous 
Canniiie, dextroufly, gently 
Cantharidian, made of cantharides 
Cantie, or canty, chearful, merry 
Cantraip, a charm, a fpell 
Cap-ftane, cop-ftone, key-ftone 
Careerin, chearfully 
Careflin, carefling 
Carlin, a flout old woman 
Carryin, carrying 
Cartes, cards 



297 ] 

Ca't or ca'd, called, driven, calved 

Cauld, cold 

Caup, a wooden drinking veffel 

Chanter, a part of a bagpipe 

Chantin, chanting 

Chap, a perfon, a fellow, a blo\r 

Chearfu', chearful 

Cheekit, cheeked 

Cheep, a chirp ; to chirp 

Chiel, or cheel, a young fellow 

Chimla, or chimlie, a fire-grate 

Chimla-lug, the fire-fide 

Chittering, fhivering, trembling 

Chockin, chocking 

Chow, to chew ; cheek for chow, 
fide by fide 

Chuffie, fat-faced 

Clachan, a fmall village about & 
church, a hamlet 

Claife or claes, clothes 

Claith, cloth, claithing, clothing 

Clap, clapper of a mill 

Carket, wrote 

Clam, an idle tale, the ftory of the 
day 

Clatter, to tell little idle ftories ; an 
idle ftory 

Claut. to clean, to fcrape 

Clauted, fcraped 

Claw, to fcratch 

Clecd, to clothe 

Clinkin, jerking, clinking 

Clinkumbell, who rings the church 
bell 

Clips, fheers 

Clifhmaclaver, idle converfation 

Clock, to hatch ; a beetle 

Clockin, hatching 

Clooc, the hoof of a c©w, fheep, &c. 

Clootie, an old name for the devil 

Clour, a bump or fwelling after a 
blow 

Coaxin, wheedling 

Coble, a fifhing boat 

Cog, a wooden difh 

Coggie, dimin. of cog 

COILA, from Kyle, a diftriA of 
Ayrfhire,fo called, faith traditi- 
on, from Coil or Coilus, a Piftifc 
monarch 



( 298 ) 



Collie, a general, and fometimcs a 

particular name for country curs 
Comin, ceming 
Conimaun, command 
Cood, the cud 
Coof, a blockhead, a ninny 
Cookit, appeared and disappeared 

by fits 
Cooft,didca£l 
Cootie, wooden kitchen difh, alfo 

thofefovuls) ivhofc legs are clad ivitb 

feathers , are fa.d to be cootie 
Core, corps, party, clan 
Corn't, fed with oats 
Cotter, the inhabitant of a coi-houfe 

or cottage 
Couthie, kind, loving 
Co re* a cave 
Cowe, to terrify, to keep under, to 

lop ; a fright, a branch of furze, 

broom, &c. 
Cowp, to barter to tumble over ; a 

gang 
Co-rpit, tumbled 
Cowrin, co ering 
Cowte, a colt 
Cozie, fnug ; cozily, fnugly 
Crabbit, crabSed, fretful 
Crack, conversion ; to converfe 
Crackin, converfing 
Craft or croft, a field near a houfe, 

in old bujbandry 
Crambo-clink, or crambo-jingle, 

rhymes, doggrei verfes 
Crank, the noife of an ungreafe I 

■wheel 
Crankous, fretful, captious 
Cranreuch, the hoar froft 
Crap, a crop, to top 
Craw, a crow of a cock> a rook 
Creel, a bafket ; /• have one's ivit 

in a creel y to be craz'd, to be faf- 

cinated 
Creepin, creeping 
Creefliie, grcafy 

Cronie, crony, an old acquaintance 
Crood or croud, to coo as a dove 
Croon, a hollow continued moan ; 

to make a noifc like the conti- 



nued roar of a bull ; to hum 

tune 
Crooning, humming 
Crouchie, crook-backed 
Croufe, ch earful, courageous 
Croufly, chear fully, courageoufly 
Crowdktime, breakfaftime 
Crowlin, crawlin 
Crump, hard and brittle, fpoken of 

bread 
Crunt, a blow on the head with a 

cudgel 
Crufnin, erufhing, crufht, crufhed 
Cuif, a blockhead, a ninny 
Cummock, a fhort ftaiF with a 

crooked head 
Curchie, a courtefy 
Curler, a player at ice 
Curlie, curled, whofe hair falls 

naturally in ringlets 
Curling, a well known game on ice 
Curmurring, murmuring, a flight 

rumbling noife 
Curpin, the crupper 
Cumat, the dove or wood pigeon 

D ADD IE, a father 
Damn, merriment, foolifhnefs 
Daft, merry, giddy, foolifti 
Daimen, rare, now and then ; dai- 

men-icker, an ear of corn now and 

then 
Dainty, pleafant, good, humoured, 

agreeable 
Dancin, dancing 
Dappl't, dappled 
Darklins, darkling 
Daud , to thrafh ; to abufc 
Daur, to dare, dkurt % dared 
Daurg or daurk, a day's labour 
Dawd, a large piece 
Dawtit or dawtet, fondled, careffed 
Dearies, dimin. of dears 
Dearthfu', dear ^ 

Dcave, to deafen 
Deil-ma-care ! no matter ! for all 

that ! 
Dcleerit, delirious 
Delvin, delving 
Defcrive, to defcribe 
Defervin, defer ving 



.. 



( 299 ) 



Delve, a ftunning blow 

Dight, to wipe, to clean corn from 

chaff ; cleaned from chaff 
Dimpl't, dimpled 
Ding, to worft, to pufh 
Dinna, do not 
Did, a flight tremuloui ftroke or 

pain 
Difrefpecket, difrefpected 
Dizzen, or diz'n, a dozen 
Dizzie, dizzy, giddy 
Doited, ftupified, hebetated 
Dolefu', doleful 
Dolt, ftupified, crazed 
Donlie, unlucky 
Dool, forrow ; tojing dool, to lament, 

to mourn 
Dorty, faucy, nice 
Douce or doufe,fober,wife, prudent 
Douccly, foberly, prudently 
Dought, was or were able 
Doure, flout, durable, flubborn 

fullen 
Dow, am or are able, to can 
DowfF, pithlefs, wanting force 
Dowie, worn with grief, fatigue, 

&c. 
Downa, am or are not able, cannot 
Doylt, ftupid 
Drap, a drop ; io drop 
Drappin, dropping 
Dreadfu', dreadful 
Dreep, to ooze, to drop 
Dreeping, oozing, dropping 
Dribble, drizzling, flavcr 
Driegh, flow 
Drift, a drove 
Drinkin, drinking 
Droddum, the breech 
Droop-rumpl't, that droops at the 

crupper 
Drouth, thirft, drought 
Drucken, drunken 
Drumbly, muddy 
Drummock, meal and water mixed 

raw 
Drunt, pet, four humour 
Dryin, drying 
Dub, a fmall pond 
Duddie,ragged 



Duds, rags, clothes 
Dung, worfted, pufhed, driven 
Dufh, to pufh as a ram, &c. 
Dufht, pufhed by a ram, ox, &c. 

E\E, the eye, een, the eyes 
E'enin, evening 
Eerie, frighted, dreading fpiriU 
Eild, old age 
Elbuck, the elbow 
Eldritch, ghaftly, frightful 
En', end 

Enbrugh, Edinburgh 
Eneugh, enough 
Enfuin, Enfuing 
Efpecial, efpecially 
Eydent, diligent 

FA', fall, lot; to fall 
Fac't, faced 

Faddom't, fathomed 

Fae, a foe 

Faem, foam 

Fairin, a fairing, a prefent 

Faithfu', faithful 

Fallow, fellow 

Fand, did find 

Fareweel, farewel 

Farl, a cake of bread 

Fafh, trouble, care ; to trouble, to 
care for 

Fafh't, troubled 

Faftern-een, Faftens Even 

Fathrals, fatt'rils, ribbon ends, &c. 

Fauld, a fold ; to fold 

Faulding, folding 

Faut, fault 

Favvfont, decent, feemly 

Fearfu', frightful 

Fear't, frighted 

Feat, neat, fpruce 

Fecht, to fight ; fechtin, fighting 

Feckfu', large, brawny, flout 

Fecklefs, puny, weak, filly 

F eg, a fig 

Feide, feud, enmity 

Fell, keen, biting : the flefh imme- 
diately under the fkin ; a field 
pretty level on the fide or top 
of a hill 

Fend, to live comfortably 

Ferlie or ferly, to wonder : a won- 



( 300 ) 



der, a term of contempt 

Fetch, to pull by fits 

Fetch't, pulled, intermittently 

Fidge, to fidget 

Fidgin, fidgeting 

Ficnt, fiend, a petty oath 

Fier, found, healthy ; a brother, a 
friend 

Fifle, to make a ruftling noife, to 
fidget ; a buftle 

Fit, a foot 

Fittie-lan', the near horfe of the 
hindmoft pair in the plough. 

Fizz, to make a hiffing noife, like 
fermentation 

Flainen, flannel 

Flatterin', flattering 

Fleech, to fupplicace in a flattering 
manner 

Fleechin, fupplicating 

Fleefh, a fleece 

Fleg, a kick, a random blow 

Flether, to decoy by fair words 

Fletherin, flattering 

Fley, to fcare, to frighten 

Flcy'd, frighted, feared 

Flichter, to flutter as young nest- 
lings ivhen their dam approaches 

Flichterin, fluttering 

Flinders, (herds, broken pieces 

Flingin-tree, a piece of timber 
hung by way of partition be- 
tween two horfes in a ftable, a 
flail 

Flifk, to fret at the yoke 

Flifkit, fretted 

Flitter, to vibrate like the wings of 
fmall birds 

Flittering, fluttering, vibrating 

Flunkie, a fervant in livery 

Flyin, flying 

Foamin, foaming 

Foerd, a ford 

Forbears, forefathers 

Forbye, befides 

Forfairn, diflreflcd, worn out, jad- 
ed 

Forgether, to meet, to encounter 
with 

Forgie, to forgive 



Forjefket, jaded with fatigue 

Form in, forming 

Fou\ full, drunk 

Foughten, troubled, haraffed 

Fow,a buihel, &c. 

Frae, from 

Freath, f roath 

Frien\ friend 

Fu',full 

Fud, the fcut of the hare, coney, 

&c. 
Fuff, to blow intermittently 
FufTt, did blow 
Funnie, full of merriment 
Fur, a furrow 
Furm, a form, bench 
Fyfteen, fifteen 
Fyke : trifling cares ; to piddle, to 

be in a fufs about trifles 
Fyle, to foil, to dirtie 
Fyl't, foiled, dirtied 

GAB, the mouth, to fpeak 
boldly or pertly 
Gae, to go, gaed t went, gaen or 

gane t gone, gaun, going 
Gaet or gate, way, manner, road 
Gang, to go, to walk 
Gar, to make, to force to 
Gar't, forced to 
Garten, a garter 
Gain, wife, fagacious, talkative ; to 

converfe 
Gafhin, converfing 
Gate, way, manner 
Gatherin, gathering 
Gaucy, jolly, large 
Gear, riches, goods of any kind 
Geek, to tofs the head in wanton- 

nefs or fcorn 
Ged, a pike 
Gentles, great folks 
Geordie, a guinea 
Get, a child, a young one 
Gie, to give, Gied, gave, 

given 
Giftie, dimin. of gift 
Gillie, dimin, of gill 
Girrmcr, a ewe from one to two 

ra old 
Gin, if, againft 






h 



( 301 ) 



Gipfey, a young girl 

Girn, to grin, to twift the features 

in rage, agony, &c. 
Girning, grining 
Gizz,a periwig 
Ghaift,aghoft 
Glaikit, inattentive, foolifh 
Glaizie, glitcering, fmooth, like a 

glafs 
Gleg, (harp, ready 
Gley, a fquint ; to fquint. Agley y 

off at a fide, wrong 
Glib gabbet, that fpeaks fmoothly 

and readily 
Glint, to peep ; Glinted peeped ; 

Glintin, peeping 
Gloamin, the twilight 
Giowr, to flare, to look ; a ftare, a 

look 
Glowr'd, looked ftared 
Glowring, flaring 
Glunch, a frown : to frown 
Gowan, the flower of the daify, 

dandelion, hawkweed, &c. 
Gowd, gold 
Gowff, the game of golf ; to ftrike 

as the bat does the ball at golf 
GowfFd, ftruck 

Gowk, a cuckoo, a term of con- 
tempt 
Gowl, to howl 
Go vv ling, howling 
Graceful graceful 
Grain'd, groaned 
Graining, groaning, 
Graip a pronged iaftrument for 

cleaning ftables 
Graiih, accoutrements, furniture, 

drefs 
Grane or grain, a groan ; to groan 
Grannie, a grandmother 
Grope, to grope, grapid, groped 
Great, intimate, familiar 
Gratefu\ grateful 
Gree, to agree, to hear the gree, to 

be decidedly victor 
Greet, to fhed tears, to weep 
Greetin , crying, weeping 



Gree't, agreed 

Grievin, grieving 

Grippet, catched, feized 

Grifstle, griftle 

Groat, U get the ivhifile of one'' 's groat , 
to play a lofing game 

Groufome, loathfomely, grim 

Grozet, a goofeberry 

Grumph, a grunt ; to grunt 

Grumphie, a fow 

Grun', ground 

Gruntle, the phiz, a grunting noife 

Grunftane, a grindftone 

Grufhie, thick, of thriving growth 

Gude, the Supreme Beinc ; good 

Guid, good ; Guld mornirt, good 
morrow ; Guid een, good even- 
ing 

Guidfather, guidmother, father-in 
law and mother-in law 

Guidman and guidtvife, the mafter 
and miftrefs of the houfe ; Young 
guidman, a man newly married 

Gully or guliie, a large knife 

Gumlie, muddy 

Gufty, tafteful 

HA', hall 
Ha' bible, the great bible 

that lies in the hall 
Hae, to have 

Hzet,fent haet } a petty oath of ne- 
gation, nothing 
Haffet the temple, the fide of the 

head 
Hafflins, nearly half, partly 
Hag, a fear or gulf in mofTes and 

moors 
£* a ggi s > a kind of pudding boiled 

in the ftomach of a cow or fheep 
Hain, to fpare, to fave, haind, 

fpared 
Hairft, harvefl: 
Haith, a petty oath 
Hal' or hald, an abidi»g place 
Hale, whole, tight, healthy 
Hallcn, a particular partition wall 

in a cottage 

B b 



( 302 ) 

Hamezvardi home- 



Ham e, home, 

ward 

Hamely, homely, affable 
Han' or haun', hand 
Hap, an outer garment, mantle, 

plaid, &c. to wrap, to cover, to 

hap 
Happing, hopping 
Hap-flep-an-lowp, hop, fkip, and 

leap 
Happer, a hopper 
Harkit, hearkened 
Ham, a fot 
Haftit, haftened 
Haud, to hold 
Haughs, low-lying, rich lands, 

vallies 
Haurl, to drag, to peel 
Haurlin, peeling 
Haverel, a half-witted perfon ; half 

witted 
Havins, good manners, decorum, 

good fenfe 
Hawkie, a cow, properly one ivith a 

iu bite face 
Healfome, healthful, wholefomc 
Hean, had, the participle 
Heapit, heaped 
Hcarfe, horfe 
Hcar't, hear it 
Heather, heath 
Hech ! Oh ! ftrange 
Hecht,to foretel fomething that is 

to he got or given ; foretold ; the 

thing foretold 
Heezc, to elevate, to raife 
Hclim, the rudder or helm 
Herd, to tend flocks ; one who 

tends flocks 
Hcrfel, herfelf 
-in, a herring 
rry, to pi properly to 



Herryment, pladder 
Hct, 

'-pit 

halt 



- 



Hing, to hang 

Hirple, to walk crazily, to creep ; 

Hirp r in i creeping 
Hiffel, fo many cattle as one perfon 

can attend 
Hiftie, dry, chapt, barren 
Hitch, a loop, a knot 
Hiz/ie, huffy, a young girl 
Hoddin, the motion of a fage 

countryman riding on a cart- 

horfe 
Hog-fcore, a kind of diftance line, 

in curling, drawn acrofs the rink 
Hog-fhouther, a kind of horfe play 

by jufthng with the moulder ; 

to juflle 
Hool, outer fkin or cafe 
Hoclie, flowly, leifurely ; Hcolie t 

take leifure ! flop ! 
Hoord, a hoard ; to hoard 
Hoordit, hoarded 
Horn, a fpoon made of horn 
Hornie, one of the many names of 

the devil 
Hoft, to cough ; Hofin, coughing 
Houghmagandie, fornication 
Houfie, dimin. of houfe 
Hove, to heave, fwell 
Hov'd, heaved, fwelled 
How die, a midwife 
Howe, hollow; a hollow, or dell 
Howe-backet, funk in the back, 

fpohen of a horfe, £cc. 
Howk, to dig ; Hotviity digged, 

Hoivkin, digging 
Hoy, to urge ; Hoyt, urged 
Hoyfe, a pull upwards 
Hoyte,to amble crazily 
,.OC, dimin. of Hugh 

Hurries, the Kins, the crupper 
V,In 

A Icker, an ear of corn 
ler-oc, a great grandchild 
Ilk or ilka, ea 

Ill-willic, ill-natured, malicious,nig- 
gardly 

tin, indenting 
Ingine, genius, ingenuity 

.11 or will 



( 303 ) 



Ither, other, one another 

J AD, jade; alfo a familiar term 
among country folks for a gid- 
dy young girl 

Jauk, to* dally, to trifle 

Jaukin, trifling dallying 

Jaw, coarfe raillery ; to pour out, 
to fpurr, to jerk as ivater 

Jaup, a jerk of water : to jerk as 
agitated water 

Jillet, a jilt, a giddy girl 

Jimp, tojup; {lender in the waift, 
handle me 

Jinglis, jinkling 

Jink, to dodge to turn a corner; 
a fudden turning a corner 

Jinker, that turns quickly, a gay 
^ fprightly girl, a wag 

Jink in, dodging 

Jirt, a jerk 

Jocleleg, a kind ©f knife 

Jokin, joking 

Jouk, to ftoop, to bow the head 

Jow, to jo™, a verb which includes 
both the fwinging motion and 
pealing found of a large bell 

Joyfu*, joyful 

Jumpin, jumping 

Jumpit, did jump 

Jundie, to juitle 

KAE, a daw 
Kail, colewort, a kind of 

broth 
Kail-runt, the ftem of the colewort 
Kain, fowls, &c, paid as rent by a 

farmer 
Kebbuck, a chcefe 
Keek, a peep ; to peep 
Keepit, kept 
Kelpies, a fort of mifchievous 

i'pirits, faid to haunt fords and 

ferries at night, efpecially in 

ftroms 
Ken, to know, kend or kent y knew 
Kennin, a futall matter 
Ket, a matted hairy fleece of wool 
Kiaugh, carking anxiety 
Kilt, to trufs up the clothes 
Kimmer, a young girl, a goflip 
Kin, kindred 



Kin', kind 

King's hood, a certain part of the 

entrails of an ox. etc. 
Kirn, the harveft fupper, a churn ; 

to churn 
Kirfen, to chriften 
Kilt, cheft, a (hop counter 
Kitchen, any thing that ears with 

bread ; to ferve for foup, gravy, 

&c« 
Kittle, to tickle ; ticklifh, likely 
Kittlin, a young cat 
Kiutlin, cuddling 
Kiutle, to cuddle 
Kn aggie, like knags or points of 

rocks 
Knappin hammer, a hammer for 

breaking (tones 
Knowe, a fmall round hillock 
Kye, cows 

KYLE, a diftriet of Ayrfhlre 
Kyte, the belly 
Kythe, to difeover, to fhow one's 

felf 

LADDIE, dimin. of lad 
Laggen, the angle between 

the fide and bottom of a wooden 

difh 
Laigh, low 
Lairing, wading and finking in 

fnow, mud, &c« 
Laith, loath 

Laithfu', bafhful, flieepiili 
Lallans, Scotiifh language 
Lambie, dimin. of lamb 
Lampit, a kind of mell-fim 
Lan', land, eftate 
Lane, lone, my lane, thy lam, Sic. 

myfelf alone, &c. thyfelf alone, 

&o. 
Lanely, lonely 
Lang, long, to think lang, to leng, 

to weary 
Lap, did leap 
Lapfu', lapful 
Laughin, laughing 
Lave, the reft, the remainder, the 

others 
Laverock, the lark 
Lawfu', lawful 



( 304 ) 



Lawlan, Lowland ; Lallans, Scot- 
tifh dialed 

Lea'e, to leave 

Leal, loyal, true, faithful 

Lear,^-0/»o<M£a/Iare, learning 

Lee-iang, live- long 

Leeze roe, a phrafe of congratula- 
tory endearment 

Leifter, a three pronged dart for 
flriking fifli 
;h, did laugh 

Leuk, a look, to look 

Lightly, i'neeringly, to fneer at 

Lilt, a ballad, a tune, to fing 

Limp't, limp'd, hobbled 

Limmer, a kept miftrefs ; a (trum- 
pet 

Link, to trip along 

Ltnkin, tripping 

Linn, a waterfall 

Lin i, flax, //'/*/ ;" the bell, flax in 
flower. 

Lintwhite, a linnet 

Livin, living 

Loan, the place of milking 

Loof, the palm of the hand 

Loovcs, plural of loof 

Loot, did let 

Loan, a fellow, a raggamufHn, a 
woman of eafy virtue 

Lowe, a flame 

Low in, flaming 

Lowfc, to locfe 

Lo s'd, loofed 

Lo - rie, abbreviation of Lawrence 

Lug, the ear, a handle 

Lugget, having a handle 

Luggie, a fmall wooden difli with 
a handle 

Lum, the chimney 

Lunch, a large piece of cheefe, 
flefh, &o 

Luot,a column of fmoke; to fmoke 

Luntin, fmoking 

Lyart, of a mixed colour, grey 

MAE, more 
Mak, to make; matin, making 
r. more 
Maid, moft, moflly 
Maiftly, moflly 



Mallie, Molly 

'Mang, among 

Manteele, a mantle 

Mark, marks, tbit and federal other 
nouns , ivhieb, :n Englijb, require 
an s to farm the plural, are in 
Scots like the iwrds (heep, deer, 
the fame in both mtml 

Mar's year, the Rebellion, A. D. 

17*5- 

Mafhlum, meflin, mixed corn 

Mafk, to mafli, as malt, &c. 

Mafkin-pat, a tea-pot 

Maun, muft 

Maukin, a hare 

Mavis, the thrufh 

Maw, to mow ; maivin, mowing 

Meere, a mare 

Melancholious, mournful 

Mell, to meddle 

Melvie, to foil with meal 

Men', to amend 

Menfe, good manners, decorum 

Menfelefs, ill-bred, rude, impudent 

Meflin, a fmall dog 

Midviin, a dunghill 

Middin-hole. a gutter at the bot- 
tom of the dunghill 

Mim, prim, afllcledly, meek 

Min\ mind, remembrance 

Mindfu', mindful 

Mind't, mind it, refolved, intend- 
ing 

Minnie, mother, dam 

Mifca\ to abufe, to call names 

Mifca'd, abufed 

Miflear'd, mifchievous, unman- 
nerly 

Mifleuk, miflook 

Mither, a mother 

Mixtie-maxtie, confufedly mixed 

Moil, labour 

Moiftify, to moiflen 

Moop, to nibble as a fheep 

Moorlan,of or belonging to moor* 

Monie, or mony, many 

Morn, the next day, to-morrow 

Mottie, full of motes 

Mou, the mouth 

Mondicwort, a n 



( 305 ) 



Mournfu', mournful 

Moufie, dimin. of moufe 

Muckle, much, big, great 

Mufie, dimin. of mufe 

Miiilin-kail, broth compofed lim- 
ply of water, fuelled barley and 
greens 

Mutchkin, and Englifh pint 

Myfel, myfelf 

NA, no, not, nor 
Nae, no, not, any 
Naething, or naithing, nothing 
Naig, a horfe 
Nane, none 
Neebor, a neighbour 
Needfu', needful 
Negleckit, neglected 
Neuk, nook 
Nieft, next 
Nieve, the fift 
Nieveful, handful 
Niger, a negro 
NiSer, an exchange ; to exchange, 

to barter 
Nine-tailed cat, a hangman's whip 
Nit, a nut 
Norland, of or belonging to the 

North 
Nor-weft, North- weft 
Notic't, noticed 
Nowte, black cattle 

O',of 
Obfervin, obfervmg 
Ony, or onie, any 
Or, is often afid for ere, before 
O't, ©f it 

Ourie, ihivering, drooping 
Ourfel, orourfels, ourfelves 
Outler, not houfed 
Owre, over, too 

Owre-hip, a way of fetching a blow 
with a hammer over the arm 
) A CK, intimate, familiar ; 1% 
ftones of wool 
Painch, paunch 
Paitrick, a partridge 
Pang, to cram 

B 1 



Parritch, oatmeal pudding, a well 

known Scotch dim 
Pat, did put ; a pot 
Pattle, or pettle, a ploughftafF 
Paukie, cunning, fly 
Paughty, proud, haughty 
Payt, paid, beat 
Pech, to fetch the breath lliort, as 

in an aflhma 
Pechan, the crop, the ftomach 
Peelin, peeling 
penfivelie, penfivdy 
Pettle, co cherifh ; a ploughflafT 
Pet, a domefticated fheep, &c. 
Phraife, fair fpeeches, flattery ; to 

flatter 
Phraifin, flattery 
Pickle, a fmall quantity 
Pine, pain, uneaiinefs 
Pit, to put 

Placad, a public proclamation 
Plack, an old Scotch coin 
Placklefs, pennylefs 
Platie, dimin. of plate 
Plew, or plough, a plough 
Plilkie, a trick 
Plumpit, did plump 
Poortith, poverty 
Pou, to pull 
Pouk, to pluck 
Poufie, a hare or cat 
Pou't, did pull 
Pout, a poult, a chicken 
Pou'hery, like powder 
Pow, the head, the fkull 
Pownie, a little horfe 
Powther, or pouther, powd.r 
Prayin, praying 
Preen, a pin 
Prentj printing 
Pridefu', proud, faucy 
Prie, to tafte 
Prie'd, ta&ed 
Prief, proof 

Prig, to cheapen, to difpute 
Priggin, cheapening 
Primfie, demure, precife 

2 



( 306 ) 



Propone, to lay down, to propofe 
Provefes, provofls 
Pry in, prying 
Puidin, pudding 
Pund, pound, pounds 
Pylc, a pyle o caff, a fingle grain 
of chaff 

QUAK, to quake 
Quakin, quaking 
Quat, to quit 

Quey, a cow from one year to two 
years old 

RA GWEFD, the plant ragwort 
Raible, to rattle nonfenfe 
Rair, to roar ; rairt, roared ; rairing 

roaring 
Raize, to madden, to inflame 
Ramblin, rambling 
R-ir.feezled, fatigued, over-fpread 

: -ftam, forward, thoughtlefs 
Rantin, ranting 
Rar, iy, excellent, very well 
Rafh, a rufh; mjh bufs y a bufh of 

r: flies 
Ruttlin, rattling 
Rat ton, a rat 

Raucle, ra(h, flout, fearlefs 
Raught, reached 
Raw, a row 
Rax, to ftretch 
Ream, cream 
Receivin, receiving 
Reck, to heed 
Rede, counfel, to counfel 
Red-wud, frark-mad 
Ree, half-drunk, fuddled 
Reek, fmoke ; to fincke ; reeiin, 
fmoking ; rcckit, fmoked, fmoky 

P.eeftit, flood reflive, fl unted, wi- 
thered 

Refus't, refufed 

Remark in, remarking 

Rem tad, remedy 

p.equitc, requitted 

Reft, to ft and r 

Rcftrickcd, reflri&ed 

Rhymi/i, rhyming 

Hi din, r. I 



Rig, a ridge 

Rin, to run, to melt ; running run- 
ning 

Rink, the c«urfe of the ftones, a 
term in curling 

Ripp, a handful of unthrefhed 
corn. &c 

Rifk : t, made a noife like the tear- 
ing of roots 

Rives, tears, breaks 

Roamin, roaming 

Rood, Jiands likeivife for the plural 
roods 

Room a fhred 

Roofe, to praife, to commend 

Roun', round, in the circle of a 
neighbourhood 

Roupct, hoarfe as ivitb a cold 

Row, to reli. to wrap 

Rovv't, rolled, wrapped 

Rowte, to low, to bellow 

Rowth, plenty 

Rowtin, lowing 

Rozet, rofin 

Run#, a cudgel 

RunkPd, wrinkled 

Runt, the Item of colewort or cab- 
bage 

Ruftlin, ruftling 

SAE, fo 
Saft, foft 
Sair, to ferve, a fore 
Sairly, or fairlic, forely 
Sair't, ferved 
Sang, a fong 
Sark, a fhirt 
Sarkit, provided in fhirt* 
Saugh, the willow 
Saul, foul 
Saur.ent, falmon 
Saunt, a faint 
Saut, fait ; fautcd, faked 
Saw, to fv*\v 
Sawin, lowing 
Sax, fix 
Scar, to fcare 
Scaud, to fcald 

Scauld, to fcold ; fcauldlng, fcolding 
Scaur, apt to be icared 



( 307 ) 



Scawl, a fcold 

Scone, a kind of bread 

Sconner, a lothing ; to lothe 

Scornfu', fcornful 

Scraich, to fcream as a hen, par- 
tridge, &c. 

Scraichin, fcreaming 

Screechin, fcreeching 

Screed, to tear ; a rent 

Scrieve, to glide fwiftly along 

Scrievin, gleefomely, f\viftly 

Scrimp, to fcant \fcrimpet, did fcant, 
fcant y 

See'd, did fee 

Seizin, feizng 

Sel, feif ; a body sf el, one's felf alone 

Sell't, did fell 

Sen', to fend \fent, fend it 

Servan', fervant 

Sets,/^j off, goes away 

Settlin, fettling ; to get a ftttlin, to 
be frighted into quietnef* 

Shaird, a fhred, a (hard 

Shangan, a flick cleft at one end 
for putting the tail of a dog, &c. 
into, by way of mifchief, or to 
frighten him away 

Shaver, a humorous wag, a barber 

Shaw, to {how ; a fmali wood in a 
hollow place 

Sheen, bright, fhining 

Sheep ihank, to think one's felf nae 
fbeepfoank, to be conceited 

Sherra-moor, Sheriff-moor, the fa- 
mous battle fought in the Rebellion, 
A. D.1715. 

Sheucrh, a ditch, a trench 

ShilCfhriil 

Shog, a fhock 

Sh09l, a fhovel 

Shoon,fhoes 

Shootin, (hooting 

Shore, to offer, to threaten 

Shor'd, offered 

Shouther, moulder 

Sic, fuch 

Sicker, fure, fteady 

Sidelins, lidelong, flanting 

Siller, filver, money 
Simmer, fummer 



Sin, a fon 

Sin', fince 

SinfV, finftil 

Sinkin', finking 

Sittin, fitting 

Skaith, to damage, to injure, injury 

Skelp,to ftrike, to flap, to walk 

with a fmart tripping ilep ; a 

frr.art ftroke 
Skelpin, ftappin, walking fmartly 
Skelpi-limmsr, a technical term in 

female fcolding 
Skiegh, proud, nice, high-mettled 
Skirling, flirieking, crying 
Skirl, to fhrie1?^to cry fhrilly 
Skirling, fhrieking 
Skirl't, mrieked 

Sklent, flast ; to lun aflant, to de- 
viate from truth 
Sklented, ran or hit in an oblique 

direction 
Sklentin, flanting 
Skreigh, a fcream ; to fcream 
Slade, did Hide 
Slae, floe 

Slap, a gate, a breach in a fence 
Slaw, flow 
Slee, fly \jleejl, flyeft 
Sleekit, fleek 
Sliddery, flippery 
Slype, to fall over, as a ivet furrow 

from the plough 
Slypet, fell 
Sma', fmall 
Smeddum, duft, powder ; mettle, 

fenfe 
Smiddy, fmithy 
Smoor, to fmother ; frnoord, 

(mothered 
Smoutie, fmuttie, obfeene, ugly 
Smytrie, a numerous collection of 

fmall individuals 
Snafh, abufe, Billinfgate 
Snaw, fnow ; to fnow 
Snaw-broo, melted fnow 
Snawie, fnowie 
Sued, to lop, to cut off 
Sneefhin, fnuff ; fneefhin-mill, fnuff 

box 
Snell, bitter, biting 



( 308 ) 



Snick, drawing, trick-contriving 
Snick, the iatchet of a door 
Snool, one whofe fpirit is broken 

with opprelTive flavery ; to fub- 

mit tamely, to fneak 
Snoove, to go imoothly and con- 

ftantly, to fneak 
Snoov't, went fmoothly 
Snowk, to fcent or fnufF as a dog, 

horfc, &C. 

Snowkit, fcented, fnuffed 

Sobbin, fobbing 

Sonfie, having fvveet, engaging 
looks ; lucky, jolly 

Soom, to fwim 

Sooth, truth, a petty oath 

Souple, flexible, fwift 

Souter, a fhoemaker, 

Sowp, a fpoonful, a (mail quantity 
of any thing liquid 

Sowth, to try over a tune, with a 
low whittle 

Sowther, folder ; to folder, to ce- 
ment 

Spae, to prophefy, to divine 

Spairge, to daih, to foil as lulth mire 

Spak, did fpeak 

Sparin, fparing 

Spaul, a limb 

Spaviet, having the fpavin 

Speakin, fpcaking 

Speat, a fweeping torrent after 
rain or thaw 

Speel, climb 

Sper.ce, the country parlour 

Spier, to afk, to inquire 

Spier't, inq 

Spitefu*, fp tcful 

Splatter, a fplutter ; to fputter 

Spieuchan, a tobacco-pouch 

Spiers, a frolic, a riot, a noife 

Sprattle, to fcramble 

:cklcd 
Spri :ir in mufic, a Scot- 

tish feel 
Springin, fpringing 
Sprit, a tough-rooted plant fortie- 
th;. 



Sprittie, full of fprits 

Spunk, fire, mettle, wit 

Spunkie, mettlefome, fiery ; will- 

o'-wiip, or ignis fatuus 
Squad, a crew, a party 
Squatter, to flutter in water, as a 

tuild duck, &C. 
Squattle, to fprawl 
Squeel, a fcream, a fcieech; to 

fere am 
Stacher, to ftagger 
Stack, a rick of corn, hay, &c. 
Staggie, dimin. ol flag 
Stampin, ftamping 
Stan*, to ftand ; Jla, did ftand 
Stane, a ftone 

Stank, a pool of ftanding water 
Stap, flop 
Stark, ttcut 
Startin, ftarting 

Startle, to run as cattle fang by tbe 
gadjiy 

Starvin, ttarving 

Staumrel, half-witted 

Staw, did tteal ; to furfeit 

Stech, to cram the belly 

Stechin, cramming 

Steek, to fhut ; a ftitch 

Steer, to moleft, to ftir 

Steeve, firm, compacted 

Stell, a ftill 

Sten, to rear as a horfe 

Sten't, reared 

Stents, tribute, dues of any kind 

Stey, ftecp ; jleyej}, fteepeft 

Stibble, ftubble -,fl:bble-rig, the rea- 
per, in harveft, who takes the 
lead 

Stick an' flow, totally, altogether 

Stilt, a crutch ; to halt, to limp 

Stimpart, the eighth part of a 
Winchcfter bufhel 

Stirk, a cow or bulk ck a year old 

Stock, a plant of cole wort, cab- 
bage, &c. 

Stockin "rocking 

Stoor, founding hollow, ftrong and 
hoarfc 

Stot, an ox 






( 309 ) 



Stoup or ftowp, a kind of jug 

or difh with a handle 
Stoure, duft, more particularly duft 

in motion 
Stowlins, hy ftealth 
Stown, ftolen 
S track, did ftrike 

Strae, flraw \ to die afairjlrae deaths 
to die in bed 

Straik, to ftroke ; Jlraikit, ftroked 

Strappan, tall and handfome 

Straught, ftraight 

Streek, ftretched, to ftretch ; Jtree- 
kity ftretched 

Strewin, ftrewing 

Striddle, to ftraddle 

Stringin, ftringing 

Stroan, to fpout, to pifs 

Stroan't, fpouted, piffed 

Strunt, fpiritueus liquor of any 
kind ; to walk fturdily 

Studdie, an anvil 

Stuff, corn, or pulfe of any kind 

Stumpie, dhnin. of ftusnp 

Sturt, trouble ; to moleft 

Sturtin, frighted 

Sucker, fugar 

Sud, mould 

Sugh, the continued rufhing noife 
of wind or water . 

Southron, fouthern, an old name 
for the Englifh nation 

Swaird, fward 

Swali'd, f -.veiled 

Swank, ftately, jolly 

Swankie or f wanker, a tight trap- 
ping young fellow or girl 

Swap, an exchange, to barter 

Swat, did fweat 

Swatch, a fample 

Sweater!, fwcating 

Sweer, lazy, averfe ; deadfiveer, ex- 
tremely averfe 

Swervin, fwerving 

Swinge, to beat, to whip 

Swingein, beaten, whipping 

Swirl, a curve, an eddying blaft or 
pool, a knot in wood 

Swirlie, knaggy, full of knots 

Swith, get away 



Swither, to hefitate in choice ; an 
irrefolute wavering in choice 

Swoor, fwore, did fwear 

Syne, fmce ago, then 

' AE, a toe ;• three tae'd, having 
2 three prongs 

Tak, to take ; taiim, taking 

Talk in, talking 

Tangle, a fee weed 

Tap, the top 

Tapetlefs, headlefs, foolifh 

Tarrow, to murmur at one's al- 
lowance 

Tarrow't, murmured 

Tarry-breeks, a failor 

Tauld, or tald, told 

Taupie, a foolifh thoHghtlefs young 
perfon 

Tauted, or tautie, matted toge- 
ther, fpoken of hair or ivool 

Tawie, that allows itielf peaceably 
to be handled, fpoken of a borfe, 

COW, &C 

Tearfu', tearful 

Teat, a fmall quantity 

Ten hours bite, a flight feed to the 

horfes while in the yoke in the 

afternoon 
Tent, a field pulpit ; heed, caution ; 

to take heed 
Tentie, heedful, cautious 
Tentlefs, heedlefs 
Teugh, tough ; teughly, toughly 
Thack, thatch ; thack an rape, 

clothing, necefTaries 
Thae, thefe 

Thairms, fmall guts, fiddle-ftring* 
Thankfu', thankful 
Thankit, thanked 
Thegither, together 
Themfel, themfelves 
Thick, intimate, familiar 
Thievelefs, cold, dry, fpited : fpoken 

of a perfon s demeanour 
Thinkin, thinking 
Thir, thefe, 
Thirl, to thrill 
Thir'd, thrilled, vibrated 
Thole, to fuffer, to endure 
Thowe, a thaw, to thaw 



( 310 ) 






Thowlefs, flack, lazy 
Thrang, throng, a crowd 
Thraw. to fprain, to twift, to con- 
tradict 
Thravvn, fprained, twitted, con- 
tradicted 
Thrawin, twifting, &c. 
Threap, to maintain by dint cf 

aiTcrtion 
Threfhin, thrafhing 
Threteen, thirteen 
Thriftle, thiftle 
Through, to go on with, to make 

out 
Throuther, pell-mell, confufedly 
Thud, to make a loud, intermit- 
tent noife 
Thumpin, thumping 
Thumpit, thumped 
Thyfel, thyfelf 
Till't, to it 
Timmer, timber ; timler-propt, 

propped with timber 
Tine, to lofe ; tint, loll 
Tinkler, a tinker 
Tip, a ram 
Tippence, twopence 
Tirl, to make a flight noife, to un- 
cover 
Tirlin, uncovering 
Tither, the other 
Tittle, to whif] 
Tittlin, whifpcrfag 
Tocher, marriage portion 
Tod, a fox 
Toddle, to totter like the walk of 

a child 
Toddlin, tottering 
Toom, empty 
Toop, a ram 

Toun, a hamlet, a farm-honfe 
Tout, the blair of a horn or trum- 
pet ; to blow a horn, &c. 
Tow, a r 

vvmond, a twelvemonth 
vzie, rough, (ha. 
Toy, a very old faihion of female 

head- 
Toy te, to to'tcr like old age 



Tranfmugrify'djtranfmigratcd^e- 

tamorphofed 
Trafhtrie, tram 
Trickicj full of tricks 
Trig, fpruce, neat 
Trimly, excellently 
Trottin, trotting 
Trow, to believe 
Trowth, truth, a petty oath 
Tryin, trying 
Try't, tried 
Tug, raw hide, ofivbicb> in old times, 

plough traces "were frequently made. 
Tulzie, a quarrel ; to quarrel, to 

fight 
Tuntfu', tuneful 
Twa, two 
Twa-three, a few 
'Twad, it would 
'Twal, twelve ; Tival p*nn'e*zvortb, 

a fmall quantity, a penny-worth 
Twin, to part 
Tyke, a dog 

UNCO, ilrange, uncouth, very, 
very great, prodigious 
Uncos, news 
Uncaring, difregarding 
Undoin, undoing 
Unkenn'd, unknown 
Unfkaith'4 undamaged, unhurt 
Upo\ upon 

V A P'RIN, vapouring 
Vera, very 
Virl, a ring round a column, &c. 
i Ji • A', wall ; Was, walls 

Wabfter, a weaver 
Wad, would ; to bet ; a bet, a 

pledge 
Wadna, would not 

-ul, woe r ul . 
Waefncki ! or waes me ! alas ! O 

the pity 
Waft, the woof 
Waifu', wailing 
Wair, to lay out. to expend 

I, chofe, chofen 
Wale choice ; to choofe 

tuple, large, jolly ; alfo an 
interjection of diftrefs 



( 311 ) 



Wame, the belly ; ivamefou, a bel- 
lyful 

Wanchancie, unluckie 

Wanreftfu\ reftlcfs 

Wark, work 

Wark-lume, a tool to work witk 

Warl, or warld, world 

Warlock, a wizzard 

Warly, worldly, eager on amaffing 
wealth 

Warran, a warrant ; to warrant 

War ft, worft 

Warftl'd or war AM, wreftled 

Waftrie, prodigality 

Wat, wet; / tuat, I wot, T know 

Water brofe, brofe made of meal 
and water {imply, without the 
additions of milk, butter, &c. 

Wattle, a twig, a wand 

Wauble, to fwing, to reel 

Waukin, to awake 

Wauk.it, thickeRed as fullers do cloth 

Waur, worfe ; to w T orft 

Waurt, worfted 

Wean or weanie, a child 

Wearie, or weary ; monie a -weary 
body, many a different perfon 

Weafon, wefand 

Wee, little ; tvee things, little ones ; 
ivee bit, a ftnali matter 

Weel, well; welfare, wellfare 

Weet, rain, wetnefs 

We'fe, we mail 

Wha, who 

Whaizle, to wheeze 

Whalpit, whelped 

Whang, a leathern firing, a piece 
cf cheefe, bread, &c. to give the 
ftrappado 

Whare, where; xvbare y er, wher- 
evej 

Whafe, whofe 

Whatreck. neverthelefs 

Wheep, to fly nimbly, to jerk ; 
fenny-ivheep, fin a 11 beer 

Whid, the motion of a hare run- 
ning but not frighted ; a lie 

Whiddin, running as a hare or 
coney 



Whirlygigums, ufelefs ornaments, 
trifli? g append: ges 

Whigmelteries, whims, fancies, 
crotchets 

Whifht ! filence ! to bold one's 
ichijht. to be filent 

Whifk, to "weep, to lafli 

Whifkit, lalhed 

Whifsle, a whittle, to whittle 

Whitter, a hearty draught of li- 
quor 

Whun-ftane, a v. hin-ttone 

Whyles, whiles, fometimes 

Wi', with 

Wick, to ttrike, a ftone in an ob- 
lique direction, a term in curling 

Wiei, a fmall whirlpool 

Wific, c diminutive or endearing term 
for wife 

Wimple, to meander 

Wimpl't, meandered 

Wimplin, waving, meandering 

Win, to wind, to winnow 

Win', wind ; «i»V, winds 

Winkin, winking 

Winna, will not 

Winnock, a window 

Winfome, gay, hearty, vaunted 

Win't, winded, as a Icttom cf yarn 

Wintle, a ftaggering motion ; to 
ftagger, to reel 

Winze, an oath 

Wifs, to wiih 

Withontten, without 

Wizen'd, hide-bound, dryed, 
fhrunk 

Wonderfu', wondeiful, wonder- 
fully 

Wonner, a wonder, a contemptu- 
ous appellation 

Woo', wool 

Wooer-bab. the garter knotted be- 
low the knee with a couple of 
loops 

Wordy, worthy 

Worfe t, worfted 

Wrack . to teafe. to vex 

Wraith, a fpirit, a ghoft ; an ap- 
parition exactly like a living 



( 312 ) 



pcrfon,whofc appearance is faid 
to forbode the perfon's approach- 
ing death 

Wrang, wrong ; to wrong 

Wreeth a drifted heap of fnow 

Wud-mad, diftra&ed 

Wamble, a wimble 

Wyliecoat, a flannel veft 

Wyte, blame ; to blame 

YE, this pronoun is frequently 
ufed for Thou 
Yealings, born in the fame year, 

coevals 
Year, is ufed for both ftng* and phr. 
years 



Yearns, fmall eagles 

Yell, barren, that gives no milb 

Yerk, to lafh, to jerk 

Yerkit, jerked, laftied 

Yeftreen, yefternight 

Yill,ale 

Yird, earth 

Yokin, yoking, about 

Yont, beyond 

Yourfcl', yourfelf 

Youthfu', youthful 

Yowe, a ewe 

Yowie, dimin. of yoWC 

Yule, Chriftmas 







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